A Fire Within
by AF Iron 135
Summary: A story focusing on Snake-Eyes. Modern day, realistic background. A new terror is born, but little is known about them, and a team is assembled to find out who is behind the new threat... Rated M for language, violence, and strong adult situations
1. Chapter 1: Origins

First off, I'd like to thank Miss Tiamatv for all of her editing help; she did SO much I feel like the story is partially hers, too! She took my decent story and made it absolutly tremendous to read. Hopefully, you'll like it, too!

I'd like to think is is a realistic story and not too out there in fantasyland, with a reminder that the G.I. Joe team is still a group of elite soldiers... the best of the best. I'd love positive or (constructive!) negative feedback if you so desire.

**Chapter One: Origins**

NSA. CIA. FBI. Homeland Defense. America was renowned--or notorious--for the number of agencies it had devoted to its secrets, its covert operations. But now, by order of the Secretary of Defense, there was a new agency to add to the list--one so top-secret that the public wouldn't even be made aware of its existence. At least, not anytime soon. The world had changed overnight, and terrorism seemed to be spreading at an alarming rate. The protection and defense of the United States was more crucial now than ever; the President of the United States had agreed: a new military unit had to be created for this purpose, and this purpose alone.

At least, that was what the country's leaders had in mind when they formed the team. But if any of the specialized soldiers specifically hand-picked to participate on the team had been asked, the answer might have been very different.

Snake-Eyes, like the some of the others, wasn't sure if he belonged in the unit. It was too odd a group to "fit in" with. In fact, in his opinion, the higher-ups of the organization were a little too hush-hush; he often felt out of the loop since they weren't always given all of the information he believed they needed in order to accomplish the mission. Sure, back when he'd been overseas, fighting in the sandbox, there'd been all the chaos, IEDs, and firefights that a soldier could handle... but at least their orders had been clear-cut and specific.

For what that was worth.

In frustration, he bowed his head and closed his eyes as memories of the Middle East resurfaced, sharp-edged in relief. He'd lost too many friends over there. In fact, if it hadn't been for his friend Lonzo, he wouldn't have joined this secretive group at all. Lonzo—codenamed Stalker—had been the head of his unit during his second deployment, and they had history that went far back... and a friendship that went deeper than that history. They'd shared and lost some of the same friends: Wade, Ramon, Dickie. All killed in an ambush. They'd been following a lead on a known terrorist, clearing out a building room-to-room, when all hell broke loose. It was nothing short of a miracle that he, Lonzo, and Tommy Arashikage had made it out alive.

Tommy. He and Tommy went back further than even him and Lonzo. They'd been the only survivors of his first unit overseas. During the first week of the war, when combat had been the heaviest, their unit had been sent to the front lines to destroy the enemies anti-aircraft missile systems. It was a job that someone had to do, in order to give the fighters and bombers a higher chance of success. And in the end, they'd been successful, but the price... two survivors.

Whoever had said that lightning never struck twice had never had to go into battle, Snake-Eyes thought: when it came to the fog of war, all proverbs went out the window. And lightning hurt just as much the second time as the first. Clenching his hands into fists and trying to refocus, Snake-Eyes buried those memories of Tommy and his time in Japan.

In some ways, that story was worse than his two Middle East deployments.

But that was all in the past. He had to keep telling himself that in order to stay sane--it was all in the past. Stalker had joined this group and recommended him for the job, and here he was, with this supposedly elite team. With too little information for the job, and decidedly odd comrades.

What was he doing here? But… whether or not he belonged, he'd been chosen.

**Chapter Two: The Third Mission**

"Gentlemen, a situation has been brought to the attention of the higher-ups," Colonel Clayton "Hawk" Abernathy's deep voice preceded him into the room; everyone present sprang to attention as the man followed the echoes of his statement into the briefing room. They might have been deep in the Pit, buried in the Utah desert, but they still kept to protocol.

This was the way the briefings had always gone, so far. They were called in from their different corners of the Pit, and told that those in the offices had decided they were needed. This was only the third mission for the team—once again, time to prove that they were a worthy tax expenditure.

"At ease. This mission will be Stateside, and we will depart in four hours. Once you are dismissed, I suggest you pack for a thirty day-plus trip." Even as Colonel Hawk spoke, the lights in the Command Center dimmed, screen sliding downwards, and the mission briefing flashed up onto it.

Everyone sat back down again, slowly, carefully taking mental notes as he spoke.

"A terrorist organization suspected of operating in the United States has recently reappeared on our radar. We suspect they have been assembling a nuclear weapon in our own country—piece by piece, bolt by bolt. Intel believes they've discovered the location of one of the group's hideouts—quite possibly a location where they're keeping some of the parts. Slide."

_Well, at least we're getting this much_, Snake-Eyes thought.

The slide shifted to an overhead map view. Hawk explained what Intel had gathered about the fifteen-story building—points of entry, contingency plans, back-up plans and escape routes.

Everyone looked surprised, though, when Hawk explained that the entire local area within at least a one-block radius was riddled with the terrorist operatives. Snake-Eyes blinked, trying to imagine just how many members of a known terrorist organization could gather in one area without risking exposure, or even arrest. Not a good sign.

The building's blueprints flashed onto the screen. "The name on the building is 'Ring-Halasp Technologies.' As far as we can tell, it's billed as a legitimate software corporation, but obviously the latest information contradicts this. We have several people working on getting us more information, which we'll hopefully have before you're deployed. Right now, we suspect that they're using the 10th and 11th floors as their Command Center, so that's where they're most likely keeping the parts of the weapon."

"Stalker, you will take Rock n' Roll, Short-Fuze, and Snake-Eyes into the building at these points," Hawk tapped the screen with a fingertip, his hair tinted green by the projection. He met each of their eyes again, in turn. "Short-Fuze, it's up to you to dismantle and destroy the nuclear device. That's our primary goal, but be on your lookout: keep in mind that there could be other traps before you even get to the device. The other three will be there to keep you alive."

Hawk turned and fixed his gaze on the two other members sitting at the table. "Breaker and Flash, you're responsible for jamming their cameras, radar, and interrogation systems, so Stalker's team can access the building without discovery."

For all his misgivings about the way their superiors dealt with information, Snake-Eyes didn't doubt that Breaker and Flash would be able to do just that: he'd seen them work on previous missions. If anyone could get them in without running them into mechanical resistance, they were the ones.

"We're taking in two vans. Grand Slam, you're the getaway driver for the primary team. Zap, you're driving Clutch, Steeler, and Grunt—you men are serving as backup." Hawk faced them squarely. "Your job is just as important as the primary team's, don't forget that. If things start going south, it's up to you to get Stalker's team out of there, and get _all_ of you back to safety."

"Of course, our secondary goal is to take down the opposition, but keep in mind that there are still civilians in the area. Make sure you know who the bad guys are."

Snake-Eyes grimaced. That wouldn't be easy, especially after getting the information that the area around the building was riddled with enemy operatives.

He glanced over as Rock n' Roll leaned over the Stalker, Hawk's deep voice still booming across the room. "So… lemme get this straight. We're doing all this because the spooks suspect there might be _part_ of a nuclear weapon in this place? As in, _part_, not even complete? I mean… shouldn't we be going after guys trying to sneak in the assembled nukes? Not that I know how terrorists think, but seems like that'd be easier."

"Not necessarily," Snake-Eyes kept his eyes fixed on the screen, but still caught 'Lonzo whispering back. "Post 9/11, we've got a lot more safeguards on hand: it'd be almost impossible to smuggle a nuke into the U.S. in its completed state. Besides… if they're working this hard on assembling a nuke, don't you think they've probably got a plan for using it?"

Snake-Eyes' lips tightened as Rock n' Roll nodded. Stalker's logic was sound… and the fact that people on American soil were coming up with nuclear solutions to problems, and they didn't even know what the problems were, didn't sit well with him.

The lights flicked back on and they all blinked in the sudden brightness. "And that concludes the mission brief. Any questions, men?"

After a brief moment of silence, Snake-Eyes raised his chin and met the Colonel's gaze. "Sir, I understand we're going to be stateside, but… where?"

"That isn't need-to-know information, Snake-Eyes," he said it firmly, but Snake-Eyes thought that Hawk didn't look any happier about it than he felt. "You have everything you need."

Snake-Eyes dipped his chin in a brief acknowledgement of the order. True, in the Middle East, they'd often had to go in with less information than Hawk was giving them now… but the Middle East wasn't Stateside. And generally, they'd been at least told _where_ they were going.

"If there are no other questions, let me remind you again of one last thing: there are still many innocent civilians in the area. Do what you have to do, but be careful. We don't need the press finding out about this. Carry on."

They all rose to their feet as Hawk stepped out of the room. And the moment the door closed behind their Colonel's back, Snake-Eyes let out the quiet, angry breath he'd been holding.


	2. Chapter 2: The Third Mission

**Chapter Two: The Third Mission**

"Gentlemen, a situation has been brought to the attention of the higher-ups," Colonel Clayton "Hawk" Abernathy's deep voice preceded him into the room; everyone present sprang to attention as the man followed the echoes of his statement into the briefing room. They might have been deep in the Pit, buried in the Utah desert, but they still kept to protocol.

This was the way the briefings had always gone, so far. They were called in from their different corners of the Pit, and told that those in the offices had decided they were needed. This was only the third mission for the team—once again, time to prove that they were a worthy tax expenditure.

"At ease. This mission will be Stateside, and we will depart in four hours. Once you are dismissed, I suggest you pack for a thirty day-plus trip." Even as Colonel Hawk spoke, the lights in the Command Center dimmed, screen sliding downwards, and the mission briefing flashed up onto it.

Everyone sat back down again, slowly, carefully taking mental notes as he spoke.

"A terrorist organization suspected of operating in the United States has recently reappeared on our radar. We suspect they have been assembling a nuclear weapon in our own country—piece by piece, bolt by bolt. Intel believes they've discovered the location of one of the group's hideouts—quite possibly a location where they're keeping some of the parts. Slide."

_Well, at least we're getting this much_, Snake-Eyes thought.

The slide shifted to an overhead map view. Hawk explained what Intel had gathered about the fifteen-story building—points of entry, contingency plans, back-up plans and escape routes.

Everyone looked surprised, though, when Hawk explained that the entire local area within at least a one-block radius was riddled with the terrorist operatives. Snake-Eyes blinked, trying to imagine just how many members of a known terrorist organization could gather in one area without risking exposure, or even arrest. Not a good sign.

The building's blueprints flashed onto the screen. "The name on the building is 'Ring-Halasp Technologies.' As far as we can tell, it's billed as a legitimate software corporation, but obviously the latest information contradicts this. We have several people working on getting us more information, which we'll hopefully have before you're deployed. Right now, we suspect that they're using the 10th and 11th floors as their Command Center, so that's where they're most likely keeping the parts of the weapon."

"Stalker, you will take Rock n' Roll, Short-Fuze, and Snake-Eyes into the building at these points," Hawk tapped the screen with a fingertip, his hair tinted green by the projection. He met each of their eyes again, in turn. "Short-Fuze, it's up to you to dismantle and destroy the nuclear device. That's our primary goal, but be on your lookout: keep in mind that there could be other traps before you even get to the device. The other three will be there to keep you alive."

Hawk turned and fixed his gaze on the two other members sitting at the table. "Breaker and Flash, you're responsible for jamming their cameras, radar, and interrogation systems, so Stalker's team can access the building without discovery."

For all his misgivings about the way their superiors dealt with information, Snake-Eyes didn't doubt that Breaker and Flash would be able to do just that: he'd seen them work on previous missions. If anyone could get them in without running them into mechanical resistance, they were the ones.

"We're taking in two vans. Grand Slam, you're the getaway driver for the primary team. Zap, you're driving Clutch, Steeler, and Grunt—you men are serving as backup." Hawk faced them squarely. "Your job is just as important as the primary team's, don't forget that. If things start going south, it's up to you to get Stalker's team out of there, and get _all_ of you back to safety."

"Of course, our secondary goal is to take down the opposition, but keep in mind that there are still civilians in the area. Make sure you know who the bad guys are."

Snake-Eyes grimaced. That wouldn't be easy, especially after getting the information that the area around the building was riddled with enemy operatives.

He glanced over as Rock n' Roll leaned over the Stalker, Hawk's deep voice still booming across the room. "So… lemme get this straight. We're doing all this because the spooks suspect there might be _part_ of a nuclear weapon in this place? As in, _part_, not even complete? I mean… shouldn't we be going after guys trying to sneak in the assembled nukes? Not that I know how terrorists think, but seems like that'd be easier."

"Not necessarily," Snake-Eyes kept his eyes fixed on the screen, but still caught 'Lonzo whispering back. "Post 9/11, we've got a lot more safeguards on hand: it'd be almost impossible to smuggle a nuke into the U.S. in its completed state. Besides… if they're working this hard on assembling a nuke, don't you think they've probably got a plan for using it?"

Snake-Eyes' lips tightened as Rock n' Roll nodded. Stalker's logic was sound… and the fact that people on American soil were coming up with nuclear solutions to problems, and they didn't even know what the problems were, didn't sit well with him.

The lights flicked back on and they all blinked in the sudden brightness. "And that concludes the mission brief. Any questions, men?"

After a brief moment of silence, Snake-Eyes raised his chin and met the Colonel's gaze. "Sir, I understand we're going to be stateside, but… where?"

"That isn't need-to-know information, Snake-Eyes," he said it firmly, but Snake-Eyes thought that Hawk didn't look any happier about it than he felt. "You have everything you need."

Snake-Eyes dipped his chin in a brief acknowledgement of the order. True, in the Middle East, they'd often had to go in with less information than Hawk was giving them now… but the Middle East wasn't Stateside. And generally, they'd been at least told _where_ they were going.

"If there are no other questions, let me remind you again of one last thing: there are still many innocent civilians in the area. Do what you have to do, but be careful. We don't need the press finding out about this. Carry on."

They all rose to their feet as Hawk stepped out of the room. And the moment the door closed behind their Colonel's back, Snake-Eyes let out the quiet, angry breath he'd been holding.


	3. Chapter 3: The Stairwell

**CHAPTER THREE: THE STAIRWELL **

_Getting inside the building – even getting to the 10th floor – was the easy part. It's gonna be getting out that will be difficult_, Snake-Eyes thought to himself, crouching in the stairwell as Short-Fuze inspected the door. They were waiting patiently, but every second of waiting seemed like it took much longer than a second should. "Clear", he whispered, allowing Stalker to swipe the key-card copy that Flash had made for them; the lock beeped softly and flashed green.

So far, everything was going smoothly. A little too smoothly, in Snake-Eyes' opinion. But he was at least comforted by the fact that Stalker was here, with him--and this was what they were meant to be doing. He and his new unit had trained long and hard at special operations such as this one.

The hallway was clear when they slid the hydraulic door open with an almost-inaudible hiss. Snake-Eyes and Rock n' Roll took positions with their M-16's pointed down the hallway.

Hearing something like movement further down the hallway, Snake-Eyes gave the "halt" signal with one hand. The group stopped, as one. He pointed to his ear, and then pointed down the hallway. Stalker nodded, once, sharply, and the others turned—in the silence, they could all hear it, now. Snake-Eyes started his slow glide down the hallway, at point, following the noise: this all looked like a normal office-type space. Maybe their Intel had been wrong? This didn't look anything like an enemy command post.

In fact... was that the voice of a little girl? Soft, chirping, unintelligible. Sneaking forward ten more feet and crouching down, peering through half-drawn blinds, Snake-Eyes saw a young girl, red hair bright as a carrot, talking to an older woman, her hair a duller auburn. Perhaps it was the girl's mother… but both of them had their backs to the glass window, and the door was closed.

He couldn't tell what the girl -- perhaps nine or ten years old -- was saying, but the mom was sitting at a computer, typing. Every so often, she turned her chin to glance at the little girl perched on a stool, and she replied in her deeper voice, but most of the time, her attention seemed to be more focused on her computer. Snake-Eyes narrowed his eyes and stared intently at the screen. It looked like… accounting figures, on a… was that an Excel spreadsheet? From what he could tell, it was most likely that she was pulling a late shift, wrapping up financial business. It looked harmless enough. Civilians, probably. Even as he watched, the little girl giggled and twirled around on her stool.

_Wrong place, wrong time_, Snake-Eyes thought. He almost grimaced at the irony. _Wrong place wrong time -- that sounds familiar, doesn't it?_ But at least, by the looks of it, the two of them wouldn't be in the office much longer. He hoped. As he watched, the woman stretched, and massaged the back of her neck with a hand. _We better be quick on this one._

_I knew we should have waited until at least midnight_, Snake-Eyes thought, but… that wasn't an idea he was comfortable sharing with the rest of the group. It was too late, anyway, but the fact that there were still civilians on this floor wasn't good. He signaled back to the group that there were two people in the room, that they appeared to be a minimal threat, and to continue on past the room.

After spending longer than they wanted to, low-crawling, investigating the spacious office space with all its cubicles and heavy desks, it was really looking like there was nothing significant for them to find. Snake-Eyes glanced back, and saw his own discouragement mirrored on the faces of the rest of the group.

"Time to try the next floor," Stalker suggested. "They did say tenth AND eleventh floors."

They made their way to the stairwell, and brought out the radio. Snakes' eyes flickered as he kept guard—using the radio was risky, and broke their noise discipline, but it had to be done. Stalker passed on "no joy" to Breaker via secure intercom, his deep voice a rasping whisper. "Floor ten appeared to be a normal work site; no evidence of enemy activity."

"Roger that," Breaker responded, his voice tinny through the intercom. "I'll tell Hawk. Continue on to the eleventh floor."

Stalker acknowledged, "Affirmative."

The team went back to the stairwell quietly and up one more floor. Again, they assumed combat positions as Stalker swiped the key-card to enter the eleventh floor.

This time, the light on the door lock remained stubbornly red.

Perplexed, Stalker tried again. Still nothing.

It only took a look, rather than words: they all knew that when the keycard approach failed, it was time for Plan B. Rock n' Roll pulled out the explosives.

"This must be the floor, if even the secure key-card won't work," Stalker muttered quietly, as Rock n' Roll carefully pressed the putty in place.

After inspecting the door one last time, Short-Fuze nodded, giving a quick thumbs-up. "Okay, stand back," their demolitions expert muttered. "This is just a small charge, but it should be just enough to blow the lock off the door quietly -- as quietly as it's gonna go, anyway."

Snake-Eyes nodded back, and saw the motion mirrored around him. They all knew what happened once the C4 came out: it meant that nothing was going to go as quietly as expected.

Short-Fuze detonated the door.

They were right: Nothing was going to go as quietly as expected.

Nothing was going to be the same for the team, ever again.


	4. Chapter 4: Forever Changed

**CHAPTER FOUR: FOREVER CHANGED**

The detonation should have been small -- just enough to blow the locks off the door, but what Short-Fuze didn't know, and couldn't possibly have known, was that the door was trapped; it was rigged with even more powerful explosives.

The sharp retort of the explosion rocked the entire building, but in particular, the four-man team in the stairwell. While Rock n' Roll, Stalker, and Snake-Eyes had partial cover, Short-Fuze had none. The blast launched him up and over the railing, sending him to the far wall and falling down half a level to the stairs' platform. Stalker and Snake-Eyes were halfway down the stairs and were able to duck down, avoiding most of the shrapnel. But not all of it -- Stalker took a few in his right forearm and hand as he instinctively raised his dominant arm to protect himself. Rock n' Roll was up against the wall across from Stalker and Snake-Eyes and had no cover from the stairs; the blast sent large chunks of metal into his right arm, side, and his upper leg. He went down screaming.

But Short-Fuze was painfully silent. Stalker, looking down at him, saw a twisted form of a man, not saying a word, eyes wide open. He was dead. Stalker was paralyzed for a long heartbeat, processing what just happened.

Snake-Eyes' ears were ringing with the blast, but he heard shouting sounds coming from the eleventh floor; the terrorists were coming to investigate the blast, and when they came to the stairwell, they'd find…

"Stalker! What's your sitrep? What is going _on_ up there?" Breaker shouted over the intercom. Snake-Eyes barely registered the fact that his teammate's voice was fracturing over the radio—he was too busy shoving his left shoulder underneath Rock n' Roll's arm, holding him up and starting down the stairwell with his M-16's barrel leading the way.

"Send our back-up; we've been made," Stalker snarled. "Short-Fuze is dead, and Rock n' Roll is down. We're backing out!"

Breaker came over the radio, "Steeler, Grunt, and Clutch are on the way! Get out of there, ASAP!"

That was the best news Stalker heard all day.

Within moments, enemy fire came ricocheting out from the vicinity of the now-smoldering door. Snake-Eyes was surprised that the enemy guards could have made it to the door so quickly; it was almost as if they'd been expecting unfriendly company. Stalker sent a few shots back, backing down the stairs following Snake and Rock n' Roll, but couldn't see a target due to the thick smoke. A bullet shot hot fire down Snake-Eyes' shoulder—just a quick graze, but it was enough for him to lose his tenuous balance and drop Rock n' Roll. Stalker picked Rock n' Roll back up. "On your feet, soldier! We gotta get out of here!"

The pain was sharp enough that Rock n' Roll could hear his heart pounding agony in his ears, and his leg was screaming nearly as loudly, but Rock n' Roll stumbled along the best he could, holding on to Stalker.

Snake-Eyes pushed himself back up, and found himself staring at Short-Fuze's crumpled, mangled face, his lifeless eyes open. _No. I'm not leaving you behind here, buddy. _He scooped up his friend's body and tossed him over his shoulder. _Living or otherwise._

Stalker and Rock were just about down to the eighth floor and descending, moving as fast as they could, Stalker still bracing up his wounded companion.

Snake-Eyes was still up at the tenth, throwing down cover fire, before he started making his own careful way down. It wasn't much, but it would buy a few seconds for Stalker and Rock n' Roll, and right now they _all _needed all the help they could get.

The next few seconds changed everything.

The door to the tenth floor snapped open, right next to Snake-Eyes, and standing in the doorframe was the young red-headed girl. Her mother was behind her, eyes wide, blouse grey with plaster dust. Both were clearly in a state of panic; they had left the office in a hurry after they felt the building shake, but unbeknownst to them, entering the war zone in the stairwell was very much like jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

At that same moment, Snake-Eyes also noticed something else; because of his solid cover fire, the enemies couldn't move further down the stairs to get an angle to fire at him. As a result, threw a couple grenades. Two of them, one by one, caught the corner of his eye as they bounced… heading right for the platform he was on.

Snake-Eyes would remember what happened next for the rest of his life. It would haunt him for the forever.

In that split second, he let his instincts take over. He dropped Short-Fuze, grabbed the young red-headed girl, and jumped down the stairwell to the next floor, curling around her to shield her. It would only be milliseconds before—

The explosion was enormous, given that the small stairwell was containing and amplifying the blast. Shrapnel and flames leaped out at Snake-Eyes, and for just a second, as he watched them come, he felt… strangely numb.

But only for a second. Then feeling returned, and with it… fire.

He had never felt such pain before in his entire life. His head was an inferno, his throat felt like it had been sliced open, and his upper back and left shoulder were howling from the metal now lodged in his body. Snake-Eyes tried to let out a scream of agony, but heard nothing. Nothing at all.

He almost blacked out, protective smoke curling inwards at the edges of his vision, but the screams of the girl kept him barely awake. The blast had knocked him onto her, but she looked safe enough—he'd done his job as a human shield, curling protectively over her. But he wasn't done yet—not yet, no—he wobbled back to his feet and picked her up. She didn't resist as they started stumbling back down the stairs.

His eyes were starting to cloud with red, stinging, and he couldn't tell if it was blood or smoke or tears or maybe unconsciousness. He could barely keep his eyelids up. _Just nine more floors, Snake-Eyes,_ he told himself. He almost tripped—just barely caught himself on the next stair. _Eight. Or nine._ He couldn't even tell which floor he was on at this point.

The girl in his arms had stopped screaming, but the whimpering noises she was making was worse, whispering 'mama, mama, mama,' all too softly. Despite all the pain in his body, he felt even more pain for the poor little girl. He was all-too-sure that her mother had gone the same way Short-Fuze had: Fast and hot and, without anything to shield her, inevitable. But he also knew they didn't have time to stop and mourn—they had to keep going.

Snake-Eyes heard the sharp retort of more guns, and heard the little girl scream, "They're coming! They're coming!" Snake-Eyes blindly fired his M-16 up the stairs, hoping to buy them more time, _any_ time. He could keep running, but he could hear that this was going to turn into a firefight he couldn't win. There was no way he was going to get any further without taking more hits himself, unless…

Yes. Yes, a door. Seventh or eighth floor, he figured, but at this point… who cared? The force of his kick sent it flying open. Diving in head first and sliding through the entrance, with the girl under him, he made it out of the stairwell just as the bullets whistled past the space he'd been occupying just a moment before. Rolling over on his side, he kicked the door closed to buy him and the girl enough time to get up and run.

All he could do was hope that Stalker and Rock n' Roll had made it out alright. But he clearly had his own problems to solve first.

He winced with pain as he hoisted the girl over his shoulder with his left arm—he was going to need his right hand free for his M-16. Poor little thing didn't make a sound as he tore through the area as fast as he could run, with subtlety far from his mind. _Poor girl,_ he thought. _She must be scared to death. But she's got good reason._

Truth be told, if he'd had the time to be, _he'd_ have been scared to death.

His pursuers were right at his back—he heard the door he'd kicked in snap open, and the crack and pop of bullets being fired down the hallway. Snake turned around and returned fire, still moving evasively to get some distance between him and the attackers. Bullets from both sides were striking true; Snake-Eyes watched two of his pursuers drop away, one of his own bullets snapping one head back. At any other time, he'd have considered it an impressive shot, considering his limited visibility, and the fact that he was firing on the run. But pain ratcheted up his arm, joining the throbbing from the rest of his body, and his M-16 tumbled from nerveless fingers as a bullet blew off one of the fingers on his right hand.

And now, rather than an M-16, all he had was a survival knife… which was the last thing one would ever want to use in combat. He swore, sharply. _I knew I should have brought my sword! Mark my words, if I survive... I'm never going anywhere without it again. _He whirled to take cover behind a wall and again took off running, still holding the girl. It was looking grim.

Zig-zagging his way through office desks and hallways, he turned enough corners to gain distance between him and his opponents. But, by this time, he heard the bad guys coming from another direction. They must have sent for back-up, and they probably arrived through the other stairwell.

Trapped.

Quietly slipping into an office and closing the door behind him, he tried to tell the girl to be quiet but no words would come out_. The damage to my face must have been more serious than I thought_. It hurt—it all hurt, and at this point, he couldn't tell the difference between what was hurting him inside or outside—but the adrenaline in his body kept him moving jerkily forward.

Pulling out a long, black nylon rope from his pack, he quickly tied it off to the heaviest item in the office he could find -- the cabinet. Quickly and as quiet as he could, he laid it on its side, dispersing the weight. Again he tried to speak to the girl, wanting to tell her to hold on to him tightly since they were going out the window, but all that hissed from his lips was breath. Instead, he put a finger to his lips, indicating the universal "Shh!" posture.

Her green eyes were wide and wet and scared, but she nodded jerkily at him. For now at least, she seemed to understand what he wanted. He held her to him tightly with one arm, grabbed the rope with the other, and kicked the office chair through the glass window.

_Here we go_… he planted his feet, and started the quick but careful painstaking process of rappelling down the side of the building. His heart almost stopped when he heard the rasp of the cabinet moving—the rope jerked under his hand, and he almost lost his grip, but… the rope held, and he could only hope that the friction between the armoire and the ground held.

It did. For long enough, it did. Or almost long enough. And when the rope fell out from under his hands, it wasn't the creak and slide of the cabinet giving way—it was just fast enough that he knew that the building's occupants had caught up with them, finally.

The buildings occupants heard the glass window breaking and responded quickly. The lead terrorist, seeing the rope attached to the cabinet, pulled out a knife and cut the rope with one swift action.


	5. Chapter 5: Retreat

**CHAPTER FIVE: RETREAT **

It wasn't that far to fall, but with all his injuries, it was almost too much. Sirens were blaring in the background. Gun shots could be heard elsewhere in the building. When Snake-Eyes hit the ground from his ten-foot fall, still clutching the girl in his arms, his knees went out from under him, the shock of the road hitting his hip almost knocking him into unconsciousness. It took all the strength he had left to stand up and take the little girl with him, getting as far away from the building as he could.

He didn't have far to go—_thank God_—as the familiar getaway van squealed up in front of him.He'd never been so happy to see the others. He wouldn't have made it far, he knew it. The side door slid open, and through wavering eyes, he saw Stalker and Breaker jumping out to assist. He felt Stalker take the small, limp girl from his arms, and almost collapsed as Breaker shoved a shoulder under him to get him inside.

"Snake-Eyes! What... what happened to your face?" he wasn't sure if the way Stalker's voice was fading in and out was from 'Lonzo's shock, or the fact that the adrenaline was draining away into something hot-and-cold, a shivering darkness. "Snakes? Talk to me, man. _Snake?_"

But the last few words that Stalker spoke seemed to trail off in his mind, as the dome light of the van's interior slowly faded out. Soon, there was nothing for Snake-Eyes but blackness.

***_*_*_***

"Hang in there, buddy!" Stalker told his friend, but Snake-Eyes was out cold—pain, blood loss, who knew, what with the condition he was in. Snake-Eyes looked bad. Right away, Stalker could tell his face was burnt beyond recognition. Most of his hair was singed off. He even noticed blood on his right hand – his ring finger had been shot off. Stalker wasn't even sure what to say, but managed to tell him, "We'll get you help, I promise."

Rock n' Roll sat in the corner of the van, still wincing from the pain up and down the right side of his body. But after seeing Snake fall into the van, he couldn't even concentrate on his own condition. Not after he'd seen how bad off Snake-Eyes was. He simply looked at Breaker and shook his head. "First Short-Fuze, and now this..." But the look on Breaker's face was clearer than words; even his friend didn't know what to say, either. "How did they know we were coming, Breaker? Even without the detonation, they were already armed and on us too quickly..." again his words trailed off.

The little girl sat quietly in the corner of the van, holding her knees close to her chest. Her mom was gone, she was with complete strangers, and the man that saved her looked like he might die. A trickle of small tears quietly rolled down her face and wet through the collar of her blouse… but she didn't say a word.

***_*_*_***

"...and that concludes our report, sir." Stalker could almost feel the cold, brittle silence, like glass against his face, as Colonel Hawk digested the mission report. He didn't know where they were tucked away—some undisclosed location of some undisclosed super-secret building, probably. At this point, he was so tired that he simply didn't care about the secrecy anymore. For once.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hawk spoke. "This is clearly a disaster. Short-Fuze died. Rock n' Roll is in bad condition—he's pretty torn up. But at least we were able to get Doc on a jet so we could tend to his wounds and fly Rock back to The Pit. Snake-Eyes, on the other hand..."

"I know, sir," Stalker replied, grimly. "At least we were able to recruit Doc and Lifeline to the team, and just in time. Snake-Eyes might be touch and go, but he should be getting the best care, even if he isn't in good enough shape to fly on a cargo plane all the way back to The Pit. Lifeline made the team, so his qualifications must be exceptional. If anyone can help Snake, he can."

"You're right about that," Hawk sighed. "The hardest part Lifeline will have isn't on the medical side of things, though; it will be maintaining his and Snake-Eyes' cover while they stay at Grady Memorial Health. Although I did make sure Lifeline had his first choice of staff members, and that they've got only the most basic information."

It wasn't funny—none of this was funny—but Stalker smiled, anyway. "Pulled some strings, Colonel?"

Hawk nodded, smiling back. "I think we seriously pissed off some of the hospitals staff by bringing Lifeline in. You wouldn't believe the favour I had to call in for Snake-Eyes." But his face creased back into serious lines too quickly. "I intend to visit him once we get everything sorted out here, and after that, you and I are flying back to The Pit. I trust the others made it back safely?"

"Yes, sir. They were scheduled to have landed a half-hour ago." Stalker hesitated. "Sir..."

"Yes, Stalker?"

"I've seen Snake in the hospital before, but... well, he got hurt bad this time. He might never be the same. And that's _if_ he survives. You saw Lifeline's reaction. Nothing bothers him, but you saw his expression when we let Snake out of the van: Even he was shocked by the damage. "

"Stalker, you know better than anyone how tough Snake-Eyes is. Let Lifeline do his job."


	6. Chapter 6: A Time to Heal

**CHAPTER SIX: A TIME TO HEAL**

"I'm amazed at how quickly you're recovering. You know, a normal man would have died from the wounds you sustained. There's no doubt about that. But... you should know that we've done everything we can for your face and vocal cords. I'm sorry..." Lifeline told himself in the staff bathroom mirror. This wasn't going to be easy. How could he possibly tell Snake-Eyes that he would never speak again, or that his face was permanently disfigured? _Sure, I can graduate medical school with AOA, but I guess nothing can prepare you for this._

He took a deep breath and sighed. It was time to tell Snake-Eyes. He'd waited a month, hoping… but he'd been pretty sure by day one or two that there'd been nothing to hope for. Grady Memorial was good, and its surgeons were great, but… no-one was _that _great.

There was only so much he could rehearse his lines, and he definitely didn't want them to sound canned—not when he meant them. Snake had probably figured out the truth of his situation already—scarred face, inability to speak, and a missing ring finger on his right hand—but… it was different hearing it from a doctor. Different hearing it from a friend.

Still, Snake-Eyes was lucky to be alive, Lifeline reminded himself. Hopefully he would stay positive and remember that as well.

He stepped out into a hallway crowded with teams making rounds, and almost collided with a young nurse, her arms laden down with four-by-fours and irrigation flushes. She shot him a startled look as he veered out of her way… a look that promptly closed down into stark disapproval as she glanced at his ID badge.

Lifeline sighed: He'd known this would be difficult, but he hadn't anticipated the nursing staff seeming to resent his presence just as much as the in-house doctors did. He almost didn't hear the small voice calling his name from behind. "Dr. Steen? Dr. Steen?"

Lifeline turned around. It was a young red-headed girl looking up at him. She couldn't have been more than nine or ten, and seemed full of curiosity and… no, that wasn't just curiosity, it was purpose. Like someone on a mission. "Oh, you _are_ Dr. Steen! I'm… I'm looking for one of your patients."

"How..." He was genuinely surprised. He'd ostensibly been brought in for "trauma consultation" on four critically ill patients, but he only had the one _real _patient… and Snake was, thankfully, no longer critical, _and_ his name wasn't even on Snake's chart. Technically, he wasn't the primary on _anyone's _record. "Um, which patient is that, sweetie?"

The girl made a face and lowered her head. "I'm...uh, I actually don't know his name. He ended up saving my life recently." She spoke quietly, as if she suspected the doctor wouldn't believe her. "He... he was burned in a fire."

Lifeline listened intently. One of his other "patients" had been a burn victim, but considering that he'd been burned because he'd been high on heroin and had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette between his fingers, he really doubted the little girl was referring to him. Was it possible she was talking about Snake-Eyes? How could that be? He raised his hand to his chin, thinking about how to respond.

"I'm sorry, that doesn't sound like any of my patients," he lied. He bit his tongue and adjusted his glasses as her expression darkened.

Her face was a small, angry stormcloud, but she jerked her chin up to stare him in the eyes. He disliked lying as a general rule, but-- "You're lying," she said irritated, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes.

Yes, he was. No, he didn't like it. But orders were orders, and rules were rules.

She stood there for a moment, apparently waiting for a response, but he just shook his head, and spread his hands. When she turned around to walk away, her small hands were clenched into fists and her shoes slapped with too much force on the white linoleum.

Lifeline sighed, and let his hands fall. Had she just been guessing, or had she really known that he'd been lying? Either way, as he started to remember the story of what exactly had happened to Snake-Eyes, he did recall that there had been a young girl involved somewhere in the mission. A young girl that Snake had saved. A young girl whose mother had been killed in the same explosion that had so badly damaged Snake-Eyes.

Could this be the same girl?

"Hey... wait." _I really should let her go,_ he thought. _I'm gonna regret this._ He knew better than to let his heart get the better of him, but… secrecy just wasn't worth letting this poor kid leave like this. But all the same, he wanted to make sure he had the right girl. "Where were you when you met this guy?"

Without hesitation, she replied, "Ring-Halasp Technologies. My mom..." her voice wobbled, began to crack. She swallowed hard, her chin tilting downwards, and couldn't finish the rest of her sentence. He felt guilty, bringing back such painful memories to such a young girl. Lifeline quickly decided to change the subject.

"Ohhh... well, he's not _my _patient, but I think I know who you're talking about… here, follow me," he replied.

She still had tears welling in her eyes, but her lips curved in a small, damp, gap-toothed smile. Clearly, she had been through a lot in the last month, and Lifeline supposed this was the least he could do for her.

"Me and my dad looked all over for him, but couldn't find him anywhere." She seemed genuinely excited, and her hair bounced as she bobbed along beside him. "The people at the front, they told me that maybe he was your patient."

Hard to look for a patient when she didn't even know his name… HIPAA meant that no-one in the hospital could legally tell her where her 'savior' was, or what his name was. And, actually, now that he thought about it, the staff had probably sent her in his direction so that _he_ could deal with that uncomfortable explanation.

How… totally ironic.

"Your dad? Is he here?" Lifeline asked her, worried. It was one thing to let a little girl who was already involved in to see Snake, but… an adult was another story altogether.

"No… well, I mean he's down in the cafeteria. He's grateful and everything, just… he's tired of trying to find him. I told him I wanted to look one last time for him today." She gave him that little triumphant grin again. "This was actually the last hospital we were going to check at! Dad figured they took him somewhere out of town, you know, to Savannah, or something. He was hurt real bad."

Yes, he had been. And if Lifeline hadn't said anything, someone probably would have finally told the girl that, because of legal restrictions on hospital staff, _no-one_ could tell her where Snake was. And she'd have disappeared into the woodwork not knowing any better, and… now the cat was out of the bag.

_Hawk is going to kill me,_ Lifeline told himself. _Nice guys DO finish last._

"Well, we don't have much time left, so you probably can't grab your dad, but if we go now, maybe we can see your friend before visiting hours are up," he lied again. This time she didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she just didn't care. He took the young girl by the hand, and took her to Snake-Eyes' room.


	7. Chapter 7: Why We Fight

**CHAPTER SEVEN: WHY WE FIGHT **

The girl with red hair stood silently by the man lying on the bed. The nice doctor with the sad eyes had explained what all those lines and tubes were—IVs for fluids and vitamins, all those wires leading up to the monitor that took "vital signs" and the "telemetry" with all the squiggly lines on it for his heart. She started to turn her head to ask the doctor a question, but couldn't tear her eyes away from her wounded rescuer. Still looking at the man, the bandages on his face, the IV hook-ups all dripping yellow and clear fluids down, down, down, and the monitor up on its pole, beeping and beeping… it was all horrible. Just horrible.

Her voice croaked when she finally managed to ask the doctor, "I… is he going to be OK?"

Lifeline quietly responded, "He's stable. He has some scarring, and he won't be able to speak again, but he's tough. The rest is up to him, but I just bet you he'll pull through." She wasn't really looking at him, but he added a kind, gentle smile at the end to lighten the situation for the child. As much as it could be lightened, anyway.

"Why did he save me?" she asked out loud, her voice so quiet, still staring at the too-still figure on the zoned air surface mattress. Lifeline opened his mouth to answer, but… she spoke again, and her voice was even softer when she said, "Why did you save me?"

This was clearly a moment for the two of them. Lifeline stepped towards the door to give the child a moment of privacy.

"I don't even know your name." She raised her hand off the bedrail, and reached it out to him—she blinked as she realized her fingers were shaking, a little. For a moment, her hand was suspended in mid-air, as if she didn't know whether or not she should touch him.

His face was covered with white bandages, but just underneath, at the edge of the bandage, she could see something pink and raw and wet, and it went all the way down his neck. That didn't look good. It didn't look like skin _at all_. Another tear trickled down her face.

Dr. Steen had mentioned that he would never be able to speak again, even if he survived. What would that be like, to never be able to say another word again for the rest of his whole life? To never be able to laugh again? To never be able to sing a song? To never be able to tell his girlfriend how much he liked her? Her heart broke, and she started sobbing. The sound of her own voice choked out the sound of the monitors and the beeping.

She didn't realize that she'd reached out and taken his bandaged hand between both of hers until she felt the rough gauze and tape and weight through her fingers. And when she glanced down, surprised despite herself… she noticed that his hand was… missing something. The finger next to his pinkie.

She remembered—too fast, too _fast,_ sometimes that happened and the memory just hit her—back when he was carrying her, and there was that shooting from behind them, and she hadn't wanted to look but his gun fell down and they'd just _run…_ that must have been when he lost his finger.

The red-headed girl took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. A lot had happened in the last month, and it was time for her to grow up, she reasoned. She wanted to curl up and hide in her favorite tree and cry and never stop crying, every time she thought of her mother. Every time she thought of her poor papa, who was trying his best, but now Mama was gone, and there was still her, her sister, and her brothers. And every time she thought of this man that she didn't even know.

But she had a lot to be thankful for. People told her that all the time, and it was true. She thanked God every day for sparing her life, and the priests told her she would see her mother again, someday. And the rest of her family was safe. She still had them.

The young girl folded her hands and dipped her head, making a quick sign of the cross. She knew not everyone prayed, but _she _did, and it couldn't hurt him if she meant it, right? So she prayed he'd be healed, somehow. He'd left his friend behind for her—she'd seen that, and she'd seen the fire over his shoulder—and… and he'd saved her life. And it had cost him so much. Papa said that good people got rewarded for their kindness, and maybe God would reward him for that, too.

But when she raised her head and opened her eyes to look at him, it felt… weird, but good. Quiet. Peaceful, like waking up early in the morning. "I had a whole bunch of things I wanted to say to you," she told him. "And now I can't remember. They told me to write it down, and I did, because I _knew_ I'd forget, but… it doesn't… I dunno, it just seems kind of silly, now." The tears on her face had dried, and she squeezed his fingers, carefully. "I mean… I guess I just wanted to say 'thank you.' I know… I know you didn't have to save me. But you did, and… here you are, and here I am, and… I'd trade with you if I could, but all I can say is 'thank you so much.'"

The young girl placed his hand back down on the bed, being careful not to pull out any of the tubes and wires attached to his arm and hand. She reached down to touch the small, silver locket hanging around her neck—she didn't need to look down to find it, not when she'd worn it for so long. Then, reaching backwards, she undid the little clasp and gently put it into his open hand, nudging his fingers closed around it. "It's a picture of me and mama. I reckon it will only bring bad memories to you, but..." She looked for the right words to say. "I… I just… I don't know how else to _say_ 'thank you,' and it's all I've got."

By now, Lifeline was choked up. The little girl took one last look at Snake-Eyes' face before she turned around, and looked up at the doctor.

"I'm ready to leave now. Thank you, Dr. Steen," and Lifeline thought that the small voice was deeper, steadier, than it had been. "Can you… um, can you make sure no-one takes my locket away from him, please?"

Lifeline smiled wearily, offering his hand to her, to escort her out of the room. "Of course."

She reached up to take his hand, but before he could close his fingers around hers, she asked, "Dr. Steen?"

"Yes?"

In a meek, little voice, she asked, "Can you maybe tell me his name?"

_Oh, don't do this to me. _Lifeline was caught off-guard. This little girl seemed to have a way of doing that to him. "It's, um...."

He took a breath, walking out of the private room with the red-headed girl. It would be a relief when he could finally see her off. She was a disconcerting little thing. "Well, we call him Snake-Eyes."

Did it matter, that he'd told her? It was a code-name of a man that halfway didn't exist in the real world of bureaucracy and paperwork. Probably it didn't matter. Hopefully.

She smiled, almost laughing, even through her dark, wet eyes. "Snake-Eyes? Really? That's a funny name."

Lifeline smiled. "Well, it's what we call him. But visiting hours are over, now. Don't you think it's time to go see your father and tell him your mission was accomplished?"

She gave him one of those looks again—one of the ones where he wondered what she was seeing, when she looked at him—but this time, she just bobbed a quick curtsy. Then she was off, running down the hall, sharply dodging a nurse.

_We better move Snake-Eyes,_ Lifeline thought to himself, rubbing the back of his neck in relief now that she was gone. Moving him wasn't ideal, but at this point, they didn't have much of a choice. At least he was stable. _If a ten-year-old girl found you, anyone could. _

He'd known he'd regret this, helping her out… but… Lifeline smiled, ruefully.

Yes, he'd probably get into some trouble for this. But that was better—much better—than not being able to sleep at night for fear of seeing that small, haunted face in his dreams.


	8. Chapter 8: Preparation

**CHAPTER EIGHT: PREPARATION **

Word about upcoming missions always spread quickly, and Snake-Eyes was almost always ready to report to the mission room by the time official orders came through. He closed his locker after gearing up, strapping on his equipment and adjusted his black combat mask. The locker next to his belonged to Stalker; he was also finishing up gathering his equipment.

"You know what today marks?" Stalker asked him, buckling his web gear.

Snake-Eyes nodded. He drew his jet-black carbon steel sword from its back-sheath, inspecting its edge, its familiar weight, closely, before sliding it back in with an easy flick of his wrist.

"One year since you've been out of the hospital. And look at you, in tip-top shape, too. We knew you'd pull out OK."

Snake-Eyes didn't say a word. He simply gave Stalker a thumbs-up, and headed out to the briefing room. Stalker had gotten used to that silence -- not that Snake had been the most talkative guy in the first place -- but he tried to help make up for it by talking all the more whenever he was around the man. Stalker knew that Snake had already acquired the reputation of being a loner with the rest of the team, and the fact that he couldn't speak definitely didn't help. Not that it was his fault.

It had been a long year, Snake-Eyes thought, as he started to reflect on everything that happened. A long year, two months, and six days, rather. The team had almost been disbanded after the disastrous strike at Ring-Halasp Technologies. It'd taken a lot of fast-talking from Hawk, and a number of successful follow-up missions when they'd been on probation, to convince the Powers-That-Be that the team was worth keeping.

They never had found the weapon that the terrorists had supposedly been building, but slowly, piece by painstaking piece, the unit was gathering more and more evidence of their existence.

"Hey, guys, wait for me!" Rock n' Roll had eventually recovered from his wounds, but his stride would always be a little slower than it had been. Still, he was useful for short-ranged missions, since he was one of the only guys that could carry and use the big guns.

Snake and Stalker slowed down for him.

As they slowed, though, Stalker glanced over at Snake-Eyes. The man had never been easy to read, and that mask of his definitely didn't help, but there was something in the way he was glancing away, his shoulders too tight. "Snake, what's up?" Stalker asked him.

They'd all learned some basics of the standard American Sign Language after the accident—or at least, enough to get Snake's point when they were out on a mission together. Even without his voice, they all acknowledged that Snake without his voice was still a more valuable team member than just about anyone else _with _their voice.

But Stalker was the only one who'd really been able to pick up more than just the ASL combat signs, and he watched Snake-Eyes' hands flicking, rapid-fire, now.

*I'm thinking back. Remember how quickly the terrorists responded? Remember how quickly they seemed to vanish, even though our back-up team and the police were right on their tail? How did they even know that we were after them?*

Stalker nodded. "You know, Rock n' Roll asked that same thing back on that very day. At first I assumed it was because of the explosion, but… nah. They fired on us almost too soon, immediately after everything went South… it was like they knew where we'd be, and when we'd be there. Breaker and Flash faked out their interrogation system, so they _shouldn't_ have known we were coming. And everything was supposed to be so hush-hush, no-one in the know other than our team and those who gave us our marching orders. You think..."

Snake-Eyes nodded.

Stalker felt uneasy.


	9. Chapter 9: Back on the Trail

**CHAPTER NINE: SEVERAL YEARS LATER AND BACK ON THE TRAIL**

"Gentlemen, we have our next mission."

Major General Hawk stood at the podium, looking serious—as always. The screen displayed the latest mission information for the team. The mission briefing room was filled to bursting: an entire decade of work had rounded out their roster with almost three times as many members as the original team. But the veteran members of the team had stayed around—through ten years, through new blood, through any number of stunning technological and political developments. In that way, the team hadn't changed at all.

Though it did mean that when people started whispering comments to each other, Hawk actually had to raise his voice to be heard above them.

It didn't seem to bother him, though—certainly, he never missed a beat as he continued, "This may seem like a disturbingly familiar situation for some of you. Eleven years ago, on one of our very first missions, we were sent to a location where we suspected terrorists were building a nuclear device. Gentlemen...," he continued, taking a deep breath.

"The bomb has been assembled."

Everyone looked at each other, and a collection of hushed whispers and hissed sighs, went up throughout the room. Snake-Eyes met Stalker's gaze, and found his old friend shaking his head. Oh, yes, they remembered only too well what had happened last time.

"According to Intel, there are three locations that they're most likely to target. This is a problem: if we're going to defend all three of them, it'll instantly thin us out." Hawk nodded to Firewall, one of the newest members; she was by far the youngest of them, not even old enough to drink. But she certainly was a computer genius, there was no arguing with that. Had she not been, she certainly wouldn't have been here.

She stood up. She was visibly nervous about speaking in front of the group: this was her first primary mission-role with the team. "Th… thank you, sir. We intercepted and decoded a transmission from this elusive terrorist organization. We haven't quite figured out where they're planning to detonate the nuclear warhead, but we have it narrowed down to Chicago, Boston, or Dallas. Why one of these three cities? We don't quite know yet. For all we know, it could be random. "

Running a hand through her black hair, she added, "But they finally slipped up: we managed to intercept a crucial transmission within the organization, too. It looks like there are records out there that actually trace the route of every single dollar bill that they've ever invested. Obviously, they're concerned about this: if we got our hands on these records, heck, follow the money, right? We could take down their whole organization: expose them, freeze their accounts… maybe even trace it all the way back to their leaders. "

Air-Tight knew he was going to be playing a pretty clear role in dismantling this bomb if they ever got their hands on it—after all, he was their NBC specialist: nuclear, biological, chemical, and this was _definitely_ sounding nuclear. He raised his hand. "Firewall, how exactly are they planning to find these documents?"

"We don't know for sure, but we think that there might have been someone from Ring-Halasp Technologies, in Atlanta, who could have had this information. Whoever he or she is, they're probably not a terrorist—or maybe they left the terrorist organization and are on the run from them." Firewall shrugged, helplessly. "We just don't know. Anyway, the original Ring-Halasp Technologies has been closed down, but we're hoping that there could still be some other leads in Atlanta. "

Stepping forward, General Hawk said, "And that's why I'm sending a SpecOps team out that way. Stalker and Snake-Eyes, you'll be returning for Round Two."

Snake-Eyes thought, _NOW you're telling us the location? Not that it mattered the first time; I knew we were in Georgia anyway. Between the humidity, the plant life, and other subtle factors, it wasn't hard to figure out._

Hawk continued, "Sorry, Rock n' Roll, this is more of a stealth mission, so you won't be joining them this time. Spirit, Tunnel Rat, Air-Tight, and Road Block, you'll be with Stalker's team. Breaker and Firewall will be your remote eyes and ears."

Tunnel Rat nodded crisply as his name was called, but deep down he remembered: that original mission had been a failure in more ways than one. No-one had ever told him that he was a replacement for someone who'd gone down in the line of fire—the team just wasn't like that—but he'd heard the stories. They weren't pretty: Snake-Eyes' face, Rock n' Roll's limp, and Short-Fuze… absent. In fact, had Short-Fuze still been alive, he would have been a veteran and probably the one to go on the mission. Nicky Lee was a bit nervous, but all the more determined to play the role, and do his job well. And make the terrorists pay by sabotaging _their_ plans, for a change. _Just give me my chance_, he thought, with resolve.

"Sir, I..." Rock n' Roll clearly wasn't happy with being left off the roster.

"You won't be sitting on the sidelines, Craig: you're being sent to Dallas. That's official, so don't bother trying to talk me out of it."

_Better than nothing, I suppose,_ Rock thought to himself.


	10. Chapter 10: Mission Deviation

**CHAPTER TEN: MISSION DEVIATION **

As the wheels of the C-130J touched down on Runway 15 of Robins Air Force Base, Georgia, Snake-Eyes glanced at Stalker.

Snake-Eyes signed to him, *I've been thinking. The last time we were at Ring-Halasp… remember that woman we walked by, the one who was working late? It looked like financial data. And I remember seeing some logos for multinational overseas companies. But when we researched Ring-Halasp Technologies, it seemed they weren't big enough to be international.*

Stalker scratched his chin, leaning backwards to resist the plane's forward momentum as the speed brakes deployed, bringing the Hercules to a halt. "That might be worth checking out. Tell you what, you think you can do some quick investigating when we get to Atlanta?"

Snake-Eyes nodded. *Give me three hours after we get there. I'll see what I can find.*

It was simple, ultimately: all he had to do was text Firewall over their secure line, and moments later, she'd sent him the address where the little girl and the mom lived in Atlanta, Georgia.

_I never thought I'd be able to use a phone again after the explosion. How technology has changed things._

An address… and a name. _O'Hara. _

He'd never known the little girl's name. Of course, it was filed in the Pit's records, he had no doubt of that. While he'd been in the hospital, Uncle Sam had anonymously helped pay for just about all of the mother's funeral costs. Snake-Eyes didn't doubt that he _could _have found out who she was, what she was doing, if he'd so chosen. But he'd always known that their lives would lead down separate paths, and… it hadn't seemed right, to look her up, when he hadn't even been able to spare her the pain of losing her mother.

Finding the place was easy enough even at dusk. It was a big, rambling white house, but it was quiet. After scanning the heat signature of the place, it appeared that no one was home. He hid by a large oak tree when a black pick-up truck drove by on the old dirt road. At first, he thought it was the family coming home, but it drove on by.

Snake-Eyes crawled up the tree slowly: its main trunk was only about ten feet away from the house, and its long, slender branches brushed the eaves. He silently leaped to the roof, landing softly, easily, his feet barely tapping against the roofing tiles. Sliding open the window to the second floor with an easy flick of his wrist, the ninja slipped in completely undetected.

He practically had free run of the house but still, prudently, watched each step he took. Doing a room-to-room search revealed very little. He didn't feel like he had enough time to do a thorough search of the entire large house, so he'd look for the basic, simple clues.

Based on some of the older pictures that were hanging on the walls and displayed on the shelves, it looked like the young red-headed girl he remembered had an older sister. The older sister looked like she was old enough to have moved out of the house by now, so if the youngest was still here, she would most likely have the only "girl" room.

Surprisingly, he didn't notice any up-to-date pictures of the girl… or maybe not so surprising, considering that there were a number of empty picture frames sitting on the mantelpiece. One of them had a bright pink post-it note with "Dad! I TOLD you not to put these pictures up!" on it. He almost smiled.

It wasn't ideal, but he'd have to take the most recent picture of her he could find. He found one of her—maybe about fourteen, fifteen—dressed in a rumpled white pullover _dobok_ and with a gold-striped black belt around her waist. She was smiling happily and hoisting up a trophy with "Taekwondo: Under-Sixteen Category: First Place" conspicuously scrawled on the plaque. He took the picture out of the frame, placing it inside one of his pockets. He left the frame—it wouldn't look out-of-place with the other empty ones around the room.

He went back upstairs, barely making a sound on the otherwise squeaky old wooden boards, and into her bedroom. Or at least, he assumed it was her bedroom: there was a small make-up kit sitting on the white oak dresser, and an old teddy bear reigning over the bed. But with all the martial arts trophies weighing down the shelves and Bruce Lee posters on the wall, it would have been easy to think the room belonged to one of her brothers. There certainly wasn't anything _feminine_ about it.

There wasn't much for him to find. There were no financial records—or at least, anything other than her keeping track of her allowance and tournament winnings and part-time job pay slips. It was a weeknight—he couldn't figure out where she could be. As much as he didn't want to, his last option was to try her computer. Surprisingly, it was the only computer in the house, so he felt that checking this one was his last option. Truthfully, the odds were low that she would have anything, unless she'd done some research herself about the death of her mother… but he'd looked everywhere else.

The fact that he didn't want to get on her computer wasn't really a matter of respecting her property, though: it had more to do with the fact he really wasn't a huge fan of technology and gadgets. At least he had friends to help him crack into the girl's hard drive… fortunate, because he wouldn't have known the first thing about bypassing even a personal computer password. And she had one: immediately upon startup, the computer asked for a login name and password. Snake-Eyes shook his head, and sent another text to Firewall. The world had certainly changed since he'd started with the team.

He barely had to touch a button; Firewall brought up everything he needed on the computer screen in front of him -- all from her own faraway location. It was nice having an ex-hacker on the team.

"_Thanks. Any kind of financial records?"_ he wrote.

Firewall responded, "_Let me check._"

After a few seconds, she wrote back to him, "_No, sorry."_

"_Does she have any kind of day planner?"_ He hadn't seen a normal paper one anywhere, and it stood to reason that kids these days could keep track of their schedules on the computer.Snake-Eyes waited for her reply, but his phone remained still.

Instead, on the computer in front of him, a calendar of her schedule popped up—one neatly, completely, filled in: hours, days, months. The O'Hara child was, he thought, a very organized girl. Very convenient.

_You're amazing, Firewall,_ Snake-Eyes thought to himself. _I'd tell you that, but it takes me too long to text it._

Looking at the on-line calendar, six afternoons a week young miss O'Hara was simply at "Dojo." That explained the martial arts trophies (at least nine out of every ten were for first place, he'd noticed) all over her room. She must have been competing for awhile, and studying it for even longer. Taekwondo, kobujutsu, White Crane. Snake-Eyes couldn't help but wonder how exactly she'd grown up so… dedicated. Disciplined.

People reacted to trauma in different ways, he understood that. Some people hid in themselves—she could have just as easily turned into a meek, timid little thing, or the kind of troubled individual who turned to drugs to drown out the memories. She could have turned into the kind of terrified loner who hid in her house and couldn't sleep for the nightmares. But… looking around at the trophies, remembering the triumphant grin in her picture… none of those seemed to fit her.

Statistically, he didn't think that many people could rebound from such a major crisis at such a young age… at least, not the way she had. He'd always wondered what kind of girl she would grow into, after the explosion that had taken her mother, after violence had shredded her perception of a peaceful world. But if she'd taken up the martial arts for discipline and for control, well… he knew very well, from long first-hand experience, that they could heal the soul as well as harden the mind: that there was grace, and peace, and art to be found there, too. He hoped her dojo was as conscientious about meditation as his own teachers had been.

He'd worried about her over the last several years—thought of that small creature with the enormous, wet eyes and the red hair speckled dark by soot. And looking at those trophies, the filled calendar, he felt part of the burden of his concern being lifted off his shoulders.

_What else... here's something_. In the notes section of the calendar, the initials "C.H.: 7:00pm" were typed. Was she supposed to meet someone with the initials C.H.? Seven o' clock at night, but which day?

_Firewall, I'm stuck. Do you have anything else on C.H.?_

She wrote back, _Give me a sec. I'll check._

A few seconds went by. Snake-Eyes saw the computer scanning various files. Popping up on the computer was a place -- not a name -- that started with C.H. Club Honey. It was an advertisement that, for whatever reason, the girl had scanned into her computer.

It appeared to be some kind of nightclub, from the picture on the screen. What was she getting into? Anyone could tell just by looking at the picture—a woman with her bare leg wrapped around a pole, her makeup thick, expression hungry—that the place was seedy. He couldn't help but wonder what -- or who -- she was looking for there.

Maybe she was more troubled than the trophies indicated. It happened. Girls did stupid things—_people_ did stupid things—to forget. But there could be more to it than just that—he couldn't afford to just make that assumption. Not when there were terrorists involved. _Whatever it is, I hope I'm not too late. _

He quickly memorized the address to the club and wrote Firewall back: "_Thanks, I'll check it out. The computer is all yours._"

Firewall remotely deleted the search files, wiping away all traces that they had ever touched any part of the girl's current life, and turned the computer off. Well before shut-down, Snake-Eyes was already gone; only the faintest whispers of warmth, quickly dissipated, left any indication that he had ever been there at all.


	11. Chapter 11: Revelations

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: REVELATIONS **

Snake-Eyes studied the faded tournament picture while on the way to Club Honey, trying to imagine what she would look like. She'd be a few years older, he knew that, but in the picture, she was all limbs and teeth and sunburned cheeks, buried underneath that trophy and the loose folds of her _dobok_. He couldn't help but smile, just looking at her enormous grin. How could someone be so cheerful after such tragedy had entered their life? She'd been _there, _when the explosion had gone off that had killed her mother. Snake-Eyes knew pain, and had been through worlds of the worst kinds of agony and anguish himself, but simply seeing the simple joy on her face gave him a reason to smile.

He left his motorcycle in a nearby alleyway and cautiously walked towards the club under the cover of shadows. The good part about clubs was that the noise and chaos that circled them were just as easy to slip into as a perfectly dark, still night—in some ways, easier, thanks to the alcohol in most people's blood.

Lifeline had told him that she'd come to visit a month or so after the accident… though their medic-doctor had been conspicuously quiet about _how _exactly she'd found him. Unfortunately, he'd been heavily sedated at the time—for the first month or so, they'd decided it was more merciful to put him under every time they changed his bandages. He'd missed her visit, which he'd always regretted: he'd have considered meeting her an honor. Who knew? She was obviously still young, but maybe she could teach _him _a thing or two about life and its obstacles.

Slipping in through the back door, Snake-Eyes was grateful that the inside of the place was just as dark as the outside. His night-vision was better than most people's normal vision, and the dark was an old friend. Years of nighttime patrol in the desert coupled with his years of training in the ninjutsu in Japan meant that he wasn't easily distracted—even by pitch-black. In this place, he could use it to his advantage. Normally, his jet-black clothing, his armor, his mask and visor, made it difficult for him to blend into non-combatant settings, but here… no-one seemed to notice. Or care.

They were probably distracted. The room was hazy with cigarette smoke, waitresses bringing drinks around to small tables, but all the lights were centered on the stage. The music was loud enough to echo as a blonde girl with a silver cowgirl hat, white cowgirl boots, chaps, and wearing possibly the world's smallest white bikini danced on the stage, apparently wrapping up the end of her routine.

Snake-Eyes carefully skirted around the edges of the room: a young girl _should _have been easy to find in a place like this, where the clientele was primarily male and most of the wait staff weren't young, but he wasn't coming up with any clues or signs. It was past seven o'clock, but then again, he didn't know what day she'd actually meant when she'd written 'C.H.' in her planner. So far… nothing.

In a worst-case scenario, he'd have to show the dated picture to the waitresses. How was he supposed to tell them that he was looking for a girl who was probably in her late teens, or early twenties? The chances of any of them speaking ASL were slim to nonexistent.

Oh, they'd look at the picture, all right. Then they would most likely take a look at him, in his black clothing and creepy mask, sneaking silently around this decidedly creepy place and… tell him this young girl's location and everything they knew about her? _Uh-huh. Right. Should have sent Stalker or Spirit,_ he thought.

The audience started clapping, the music faded to soft background thumping, and the blond left the stage, strutting, with one last wave to the crowd. The lights went down.

Snake took a more careful look around: suspicious activity tended to happen in small breaks like this, when it was darker, when there was more motion rather than attention. True, there were a few shady characters that he could single out, and almost certainly a few drug deals going on in that corner… but given his location, that wasn't necessarily anything significant.

The next song started up, slowly at first, with a deep bass. The music slowly grew more intense—faster, faster, louder, until it was near heavy-metal speed and he could feel it thumping through his breastbone. "Gentlemen," a voice boomed. "Tonight, the lady you've been waiting for."

Snake-Eyes tuned out the announcer and focused on the crowd—they were starting to return to their seats, which made keeping to the shadows in the back part of the room a priority. Just then, the smoke machines went off on stage, and the lights overhead flashed, once, twice, thrice, with the announcement. The audience started screaming and hollering; most stood up and cheered, wildly.

That was what tipped Snake off. One of the guys up front—a man with a full black beard and a moustache—was eyeing the stage, intently. He didn't stand, he didn't clap--he didn't even seem furtive, nervous, like some of the others—Snake would guess first-timers, or maybe men cheating on their wives. He was too calm and collected for that. It could have been more understandable—unlikely, but plausible—if he had been sitting at the bar, or at the back of the room… but the guy was sitting in a prime seat, in the front row. He was clearly up to _something_.

The next dancer stepped out on stage, shadows and smoke and the barest hint of movement.

Snake-Eyes moved from the back of the room and through the crowd, slipping closer to this mystery man. He slowly raised his hand behind his hip, grasping the hilt of his _wakizashi_. Step by step, he moved quietly as possible. Everyone was distracted by the dancer on stage, and… well, he'd found that when women were involved, a dark ninja warrior moving through the crowd was the last thing that most men would notice.

"Please," the voice boomed again over the microphone, "give it up for Atlanta's own...."

He was closing in, only a few rows behind the man, taking one last careful glance around before he made any sudden moves.

Every light in the building illuminated the new dancer on the stage, and for the first time, Snake-Eyes caught her out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't been distracted by the previous dancer's gyrations; he hadn't particularly planned on being distracted by this one, either. Even if she was dressed just as provocatively, despite having less skin showing—a short sheath of dark red leather with laces zig-zagging between her breasts and doing little to conceal any cleavage… a skirt that was even shorter. Even if she moved so smoothly, sliding up to center stage and grabbing the pole with one hand, sweeping her auburn locks out of her face with the red-gloved fingers of the other. And when she tossed her head, swirling her hair again, and her subtle, crimson-lipped smile flashed white over the men gathered hooting and hollering in the audience, he realized.

Her hair wasn't just auburn. It was… red.

A brilliant, vivid, familiar _red_.

"...SCARLETT!!!" the voice rang out over the PA system.

And for the first time in a long time, Snake-Eyes found himself completely taken off-guard.

_I don't believe it! It's… it's __her__!_

He was stunned. He clearly lost track of his target for a few seconds. He knew—he knew better than anyone—that the one-potato, two-potato of a few seconds could be an eternity; they could be life or death. But he was captivated, and in that second, he simply didn't _care_.

There were the barest tantalizing glimpses of the familiar about her, but the lady on stage wasn't a child: she was blood-red beauty, with lips tinted as dark as her corset and long, long pale legs, painted paler by the spotlights. It was as if his eyes simply didn't know where to fix on her—the dark choker that drew his gaze upwards to throat and trim, bare shoulders and the curve of breasts, or the flashing jewel in her navel that tugged his gaze down to a sleek, flat abdomen, the flare of her hips underneath a pleated skirt so minimal it was the barest afterthought. She swung slowly around the pole once, kicking up a glistening knee-high red boot and leaning backwards. The smile on her face was for everyone—sultry, the faintest curve. He felt his jaw sag.

But that was just the beginning: there was knowledge in her eyes, not just amusement, and he couldn't tear his gaze away when she started to dance. Oh, it was sexy, what she was doing—spinning back upwards, still holding the pole—but she was… graceful. But when she closed her eyes and slid down the front of the pole with her hands behind her head, her knees spread outwards, hips pressing slowly from side to side, lips just barely parted… _Incredible._ He'd never found grace erotic before.

His eyes caught on the almost-invisible power in the way she held herself so straight, perfectly balanced despite her splayed legs, extended body, arched back, as if she were offering herself up. Her fingers and arms were loose and easy on the pole, sleek strength in the slow grind of her legs as she lowered herself downwards, and her expression was pure enjoyment. Not just sensuality—not just grace. Control. _Strength_. Promises, when she lowered her hands from the pole, holding her position—holding his attention when those hands slid down her throat—gloved fingers tracing the laces of her corset in a tantalizing back-and-forth. Touching, gently, the twinkling accent in her belly-button. Sliding lower still.

Snake-Eyes, after a long moment, had to remind himself who he was. Where he was. Had to tell himself to not stare at where her fingers were edging from that skirt to the taut, tempting vee of her thighs.

He tried to remind himself to breathe—almost failed.

But at the bottom of her glide, she opened her eyes, and looked over the crowd… and met his gaze. Or, at least, she was definitely looking at him. He almost flinched back. She looked perplexed for a moment, but then slowly slid back up the pole, muscle rippling smoothly in her legs, and continued dancing.

_Well, of course she looks puzzled, you think she sees men in masks every day? Something's not right. Focus, Snake,_ he told himself. He glanced over—behind him. There was… yes. Someone was sneaking around behind him, through the crowd… just as he'd done, himself, only moments earlier. And the bearded man in front of him, the one he'd been eyeing, was on his cellphone. He'd been… distracted—he hadn't seen it come out.

It was about then that Snake figured out what was going on.

_Ambush. _

Somehow, they'd known he was going to be here at Club Honey. Somehow, someone had tipped them off. They clearly knew that the woman in red onstage, Scarlett, was the young girl he had saved almost eleven years ago… and they just as clearly knew how to use her as bait.

Which meant… they were either the terrorists his team was looking for, or they were working for the terrorists. Either way, not good.

He couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to him, that she could be dragged back into all of this because of what had happened before. His very presence was endangering her. _Not again,_ he thought. _No, not again. _

Letting go of the hilt of his blade, Snake-Eyes started to back up, pressing his right hand to the wall to keep his bearings. Taking out the one who was stalking him would be simple—he could do that in a heartbeat, without anyone noticing—and the one near the stage would be nearly as quick to escape, if there wasn't backup coming. This was the best way to ensure the girl's safety.

But there was something he hadn't counted on. Despite the way the music kept filling the club, the heavy bass still rattling the tables… the dancer onstage had stopped in the middle of her routine.

He looked up—noticed the girl was looking right at him. _No,_ he thought. _She's seen me._ He'd tried to keep to the thicker shadows, but he'd had to step out to get behind the bearded man, and now… now everything was going south really, really fast.

Snake-Eyes saw her lips moving. He couldn't have heard her from this far away, but… she couldn't be saying what it looked like she was saying. Could she?

Because it looked like she was saying his name.

The crowd was still cheering—thank God, it seemed like most of them were still rather oblivious as to what was going on, but they were slowly picking up that this wasn't part of her routine. "Dance, keep dancing!" most of them shouted. "Take it off! Take it all off!" others countered.

He didn't want to take his eyes off her, those tilted emerald eyes, the frank amazement on her face, but had to. He turned around and slipped away.

But this time, he definitely heard her say, through a softer lull in the music, "Wait… are you Snake-Eyes?"

_Wha—how on Earth…_ He pressed his lips together as he made his way through the crowd._ How does she know my name? How does she know __who__ I am…?!_

He'd ignored her, but she'd seen the way his shoulders had jerked when she'd said his name. Her heart skipped a beat, and the dancer known as Scarlett raised a hand to her chest. Funny, she'd walked into so many martial arts tournaments smiling, and _now _she was starting to shake a little, her breath coming too quickly?

_It's him—I know it's him_, she thought to herself. _He's missing his ring finger—yes, it's dark in here, but I'm not dreaming. I'm not imagining this. I saw the silhouette of his hand when he pressed it against the wall._ Maybe it had to do with what had happened to her, but… all her life, she'd been exceptional at noticing fine details, small hints, inconsequential features that other people missed. Most people just thought she was being silly for remarking on these things… at least, until it became pretty clear that she could read an opponent's next move just by watching the twitch of their facial muscles, or the tension in their shoulders. _And… that mask? That nice doctor said that his scarring would be bad. Is it really him?_

_One way or another… I'm finding out,_ she told herself, hopping off the stage and into the crowd. They went wild—but she'd known they would. A few of the more intoxicated guys tried to grab her, but she easily pushed them off, determined to move forward. For the moment, the spotlight was following her, as if all this was part of the act.

_Damn it. _She'd left the stage, and was heading straight for him—slowly, carefully picking her way around the crowds of men, but definitely aiming in his direction. He'd had every intention of just fading away into the shadows and then leaving—it was safer for her that way, he knew it was—but… the bearded man finally snapped his cellphone closed, and stood up, looking not at him, but at _her_.

She was only a step or two from the bearded man. And the man's face was chill, utterly cold and calm and still as a winter graveyard, when he reached into a pocket.

_Not good,_ he thought. He definitely couldn't slip away now. And when he moved, this time it was _towards _Scarlett, with all the speed that years of training, and more years of loss, had given him. She was standing between him and the bearded man—and then, a moment later, he was staring down into her wide eyes.

Grabbing the girl—or… he remembered her as being a girl, but the body against his, the soft, angular face, was definitely that of a woman—he dropped the right side of his body and lashed out in a high punch-kick, square to the bearded man's chest, sending him flying backwards. The terrorist crashed into a bank of chairs, and a gun skittered across the floor, dark and sparkling, like a beetle.

_I knew it. _Snake wrapped one arm around the girl's shoulders and held her elbow firmly with the other hand, pushing them both towards the stage—then onto it, and back through the curtain.

He could see the confusion on her face, the hint of fear, but she wasn't struggling against him. Good—they didn't have much time. The man he'd kicked would be out for a while, but his partner was probably still behind them.

"Snake-Eyes… it _is _you, isn't it?" Scarlett whispered. God, she was so confused, but… she had to believe that he was worth following willingly. "What's going on?"

Snake-Eyes gestured for her to be quiet, making a familiar "Shh!" gesture at her. But she remembered all-too-well: he'd done that exact same motion all those years before. And when he brought his finger to his lips and shook his head, it was as if she were nine years old again, her world was collapsing around her, and the only thing that was safe was the man who'd protected her with himself. _Yes_, Scarlett realized. _Yes, it's him_.

But she'd never had any doubt, not really.

Once outside the building, Snake-Eyes nudged her to the side of the doorway and against the wall. Standing between her and the doorway, with his back against the outside of the brick building and the girl to his left, he waited for their pursuer to come running out the door. And waited. And waited.

The man came bolting out the door.

Snake-Eyes clothes-lined him with a solid forearm.

Their pursuer's feet continued on without him, sending him flying and landing flat on his back. Snake's first kick knocked the wind out of the man, curling him around his abdomen with a soft, pathetic wheeze—his second knocked the man's head back with a 'thud,' eyes blank and empty and surprised before they sagged shut. Snake-Eyes bent down to check him—still alive, still breathing. Good. But he wasn't carrying a wallet, or anything else useful or informational—just a silencer and a few clips.

Hopefully, after the altercation in the club, the cops would be coming and would find the man here… but it was time for them to go. Snake-Eyes didn't know who the bearded man had been calling, or how many others were after them.

Them. Snake-Eyes looked at the young woman in her high red boots, her red gloves, her mane of brilliant hair. Scarlett hadn't moved from where he'd put her against the wall.

She still hadn't said a word, but she met his gaze, squarely. He wondered if she truly meant to say what her eyes seemed to be saying: _"I'm scared, and I'm not sure what's going on, but… I trust you._"

She couldn't mean it. She didn't know him. She had no idea what was happening—no idea what he could be bringing her into.

But when he straightened and reached a hand out to her… she took it.


	12. Chapter 12: Remembering the Past

**CHAPTER TWELVE: REMEMBERING THE PAST **

Checking into a hotel would have been very, very awkward.

With how they were dressed… well, Snake-Eyes was sure that anywhere outside of Las Vegas, they'd have drawn attention to themselves. Or maybe Mardi Gras. Or Halloween. With him dressed for out-and-out war in head-to-toe black commando garb, carrying a two-foot-long sword and a bandolier of knives and charges, and her in a red leather bustier, an incredibly short, red skirt, and matching boots and gloves… even in the run-down Peach Tree Hotel, a full hour away from Club Honey, they would be… memorable.

Snake-Eyes liked run-down hotels, though: they generally had good, old-fashioned metal keys, conveniently labelled with the room number, rather than keycards. He always told himself that one day, he'd learn at least the basics of programming the darned things. Otherwise, security wasn't something that worried him in most places: it was a simple matter for him to sneak in and steal a key while Scarlett waited for him in a secure location. Once they got her into some normal clothing, they could pay for a room later.

But for now, this would work.

Scarlett sat on the side of the bed, suddenly, painfully, aware of exactly how she was dressed. She'd always hated the fact that she blushed like only a redhead could blush—as red as her hair, and just as noticeable. He seemed like he was busy drawing the blinds, his face turned outwards towards the window—she figured he was making sure no-one was following them—but… Scarlett scooped up the bed sheet and wrapped it around her body anyway, tucking it just above her breasts.

"You know, I knew it was you," she murmured.

Snake-Eyes slid the blinds closed and turned to face her. Since it was the first time he'd stood still and stopped examining the room since they'd arrived, she could only guess that he was satisfied with the security of their accommodations—for now, at least. But he raised his shoulders in a brief shrug, as if he were asking, "How would you know that?"

He did have surprisingly expressive body language, considering the fact that she couldn't see his face: she immediately knew what he meant. "Your missing ring finger, on your right hand," she responded, biting her lower lip. "Well, that, combined with the mask. Most people don't wear masks at clubs…"

He cocked his head at her, and she could almost see his eyebrow tilting upwards. To her surprise, Scarlett heard herself chuckle. "Hey! Club Honey isn't _that _kind of club!" And her smile lingered around her lips when she shrugged. "I just, I don't know... I just, kind of, suspected. I'd always had a feeling I might see you again, you know..."

Snake-Eyes pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen from one of his pockets. He wrote something down and handed it to her.

"Are you OK?" it said.

"Yes," she replied, smiling. "Thank you."

As he set his pen to the paper again, she added, "You know, I'm not just talking about today. I mean… I never got to thank you for… well, you know. Saving my life way back when. Sometimes it seems like yesterday. Sometimes I even forget. But sometimes it's really rough, even after all these years. The nightmares… but… I owe you everything, Snake-Eyes, and I am so grateful..." Her words trailed off, and to her surprise, she felt her eyes welling up, emotion coming in roiling waves. Outside of nights when she woke up screaming, it'd been years since she'd cried over her past.

She laughed, rubbing her eyes with her one free hand. "Ah! Darn it… I'm sorry." She sniffled, once, and scrubbed the tears away. "Everything is just coming back to me. I wasn't... well, you know, I visited you in the hospital after the accident. The doctor was nice, but you were still unconscious… you probably don't remember it. And when I tried to come back the next week, I couldn't find you, or the doctor. It was as if you'd both vanished."

He'd meant to keep writing, but it just hadn't seemed right, not when he could see the way her eyes were still glistening, and her lips were curving in that odd, wistful smile—too old for her fresh, young beauty; he'd been startled to find, once she'd washed off her makeup, the dark-kohl eyes and the blood-red lipstick, that she was prettier without it. Instead, he put his notepad down on his knee and… listened.

She slowly peeled her gloves off her hands, trying to feel more like Shana and less like Scarlett. "So... let me thank you now, okay?" she asked softly, and he had the strangest feeling that she could see his eyes, right through his visor and his mask, when she reached her hand out for his.

At first, he just didn't know how to react—what she wanted—what _he _wanted. But she was looking at him with that soft, naked gaze, her hand loose and welcoming.

He reached out his own hand—their fingertips brushed. Her fingers slid across his as she reached for him—the sensation was… soft? Indescribable. The barest pressure before her hand settled fully against his. He could practically feel the warmth of her skin, even through his thin, black gloves, and it sent a startling, unexpected tingle down his wrist.

For a moment, he wondered if he were shaking.

Then he remembered those slender fingers skimming the laces of her corset, brushing a thumb across her belly-button ring as she danced…

Hastily, he gave her fingers a quick squeeze and dropped them, reaching for the note that he'd written and holding it out to her.

She offered him a small smile—forced, but there nonetheless. She was a little saddened that he couldn't even bear that small of a gesture, but… he'd been through a lot. And what he'd sacrificed… she got that probably better than anyone. She reached out for the note with her free hand, keeping the sheet tucked close against her body with the other. The smooth material of his gloves flicked across the very tips of her fingers as she took the bit of paper—she felt goosebumps prickling down her wrist, following a tingling curve down her shoulders and coming to rest in the small of her back.

She read his note aloud. "We have to lay low for a while. You are in danger, and we can't go back to the team." Puzzled, she raised her chin to face him. "Danger? I don't understand what's going on—what happened in the club? Why can't we go back to your team? Weren't they the ones who helped protect me the first time…?"

She watched the rise of his chest, in, out, a sharp heave, like a deep breath—maybe a sigh. No, too fast for a sigh. And she watched the jerking motions of his pen across his pad of paper, the rigidity in his shoulders through the thin black material—was he… angry?

"Snake-Eyes? Are you okay?" she asked, quietly. There was a palpable tension vibrating through him, she thought.

He finished writing, stood up straight for a moment, but didn't respond to her question. Instead, he folded up the note and gave it to her.

She unfolded it and read it aloud. "There is a traitor in my unit"


	13. Chapter 13: Trust

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: TRUST**

"What?" Scarlett asked, deeply concerned.

He explained the situation briefly--the mission when they'd first met had gone badly enough, but the fact that there had been suspicious attackers in the club, as well, smacked of more than coincidence. They didn't live in the movies--the enemy didn't just "appear" without reason. Both times, the enemy response to their missions had been anticipation, not provocation. They'd known. They'd _known_, and in the cold, quiet stillness at the back of his mind, he understood exactly what that meant.

One of his own team had been passing on mission information. One of the _original_ team. To terrorists armed with a nuclear missile.

And he'd led them right back to Scarlett. Again. If they'd never touched her life, if he hadn't come looking for what tiny scraps of information she could possess... a sharp, hard dart of guilt ached in his throat.

Scarlett shook her head, worried. True, dancers sometimes acquired overzealous... admirers. Stalkers. But those two men in the club had been totally foreign to her, and she'd always been good with faces.

If she couldn't trust the team that had saved her, then maybe her situation actually was hopeless. But then again, she knew she could trust Snake-Eyes. He had kept her safe this far.

Snake-Eyes knew he had to at least partially explain how she fit into in all of this -- he regretted bringing up painful memories, but he had to ask if she knew anything about her mother's job, or any financial projects that her mother might have been working on before her death.

"Um, financial projects? Like what?"

Snake didn't want to give her any information that could endanger her, but he knew these were the same questions the team would be asking her anyway. Besides, any help she could give might be enough to take down the terrorists. He wrote a long note this time:

"We just came by some information about the same organization responsible for the attack on Ring-Halasp Technologies. It seems that some financial documents which could expose the inner workings of their organization just recently came to light." _They know they're out there and are trying to locate them._ But he had no desire to alarm her. "That night, I saw some of the financial data that your mother was working on. It didn't seem to make sense at the time, and I wonder if there might be a connection. Was she the CFO for the company? She may have been on to something."

Scarlett cupped her chin in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. "I think so, but I don't know any details about what she did! I... I wish I could help, believe me! Anything to get them back for what they did to mama...but..." she sighed. "I can't think of anything."

She hated being so helpless! She was so tense, so stressed. But she glanced up as Snake-Eyes strode over to the closet, pulling out a blanket. She was a little surprised when he unfolded the blanket and gently tucked it around her shoulders—it was worn soft and floppy with many washings—but… more surprised still when he sat down beside her, facing her, one bent knee dimpling the bed behind her. The weight of his arm settled across her shoulders, over the blanket. Strong fingers rubbed carefully up and down her arms. It was as if he were quietly saying "Relax", or "Take your time."

If he was trying to calm her down, it seemed to be working—she felt some of the tension drain from her back. She turned her back towards him and leaned against his chest, snuggling into the blanket.

"Snake-Eyes? I want to get these guys, make them _pay_... what can we do, do you think?" Her mind was racing a million miles an hour. It had been a long day for her. Not only had she suddenly been thrust into this violent, unfamiliar world of secrets once again, but it seemed that someone thought she could hold the keystone to possibly exposing this evil organization.

For better or for worse.

Snake-Eyes could sense her stress, the poor thing; he'd been startled when Scarlett had turned and tucked herself back against his chest, but he doubted she realized that she was trembling. He was used to combat, but she was being thrust back into this violent, unpredictable world once again. She dug into his chest, deeper, and he folded his arms around her—she heaved a sigh, and he thought, maybe, she relaxed. Just a little. Tentatively, he raised his right hand, missing finger and all, and carefully stroked that gorgeous auburn hair. He wished he could tell her that it would all be alright—that she could just rest up. But he didn't even know if it was true. Any of it.

He ran the tips of his fingers down her cheek, and wished he could tell her that she could trust him.

The adrenaline could only last for so long—she knew that. A few minutes before, she'd have thought she'd never be able to sleep, but now… her eyelids were growing heavy. She nodded, as if Snake-Eyes had spoke through his warm, strong arms, his gentle, careful hands. He didn't have to be able to talk for her to understand what he was saying.

"I do, Snake-Eyes, I trust you," she whispered, turning her face until her cheek rested against his chest.

With her face resting against his heat, arms carefully holding her, Scarlett's eyes closed.


	14. Chapter 14: ProtectorStalker

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: PROTECTOR/STALKER **

Scarlett awoke from sleep and into sunlight: the first thing that she saw was was rays of light trying to pierce through the slats of the closed blinds, barely managing to skip across the floor next to the old radiator. She was… comfortable, which surprised her—tucked in, cozily, beneath the sheets. Looking at the clock set by the bedside, she realized it was a quarter to eleven. _Oh, wow. Talk about sleeping in. _

As Scarlett slowly drifted out of sleep, she noticed that the room was empty: Snake-Eyes wasn't there.

She stretched, luxuriously, pointing her toes… and realized with the soft brush of cloth against her calves that her boots were no longer on. "Oh, my..." she whispered, blushing. He must have taken them off after she'd fallen asleep against him. Even more embarrassing to her, she remembered that she was still in her red leather bikini. Which shouldn't have been a surprise—after all, it was all she had—but… was, somehow. An unpleasant one. She sat up and tucked the blanket higher around her, wrapping it around her torso.

She must have looked like such a little tramp to him!

It was about this time that Snake-Eyes returned to the hotel and entered the room. Once again, he made sure the room was safe and that no one had followed him. The last thing he wanted was to endanger Scarlett again.

Snake-Eyes carried a duffel bag with him, and set it on the bed next to Scarlett.

"Good morning," she chirped, automatically, before looking down at the bag. He gestured towards it. "Oh! For _moi_?" she asked, putting her hand to her chest just over the bed sheet. As she grabbed the bag and started to open it, she looked up at him—his dark mask, dark clothes, the ridges of muscle and weaponry that crossed his chest—and grinned. "Huh! So what kind of EQ did you bring me? Oh, I hope you remembered the AK-47 I asked for!"

Under his mask, Snake-Eyes felt his lips curve into an involuntary smile.

She laughed—she actually laughed, her cheeks pink with delight, when she opened the bag and tugged out the contents. He watched her carefully—on the one hand, as long as she had something to wear that was at least a decent fit, it really didn't matter what it was, but… she actually seemed to enjoy his selections. He'd picked up a simple black blouse, a soft, dark green skirt, and a pair of sandals that looked like they had enough strap on them to tolerate some walking. "Oh, my favorite color!" she said, holding up the skirt. "Well, I'd probably look better in this than holding an AK-47, anyway."

He heard her quick exclamation of delight as she dug back into the bag and found the small paper bag with her breakfast in it—she pulled out a bagel and took a quick bite, sighing happily as she swallowed. "Snake-Eyes, thank you! I'm famished." Then, after a brief moment eyeing the bagel, she turned and grinned at him. "You know, I'm pretty sure this is the first time any man's brought me breakfast in bed?"

He probably would have laughed—she _was_ a funny little thing, wasn't she?—but instead, found himself staring. It was both convenient and comforting that she was so relaxed around him—after all, she barely knew who he was—but even he knew he must have seemed creepy, the way he wasn't able to take his eyes off her. He had the advantage of his mask, of course, but… still.

He just couldn't help it: she had the same smile now as she'd had in that tournament picture, when she'd been all of fourteen years old. It was just… strange, startling, to see that same innocent joy in a woman dressed in small scraps of red leather and laces. She had definitely changed in some very amazing ways, but her smile had not been not one of those changes. It remained lovely, wide, wholesome -- the same as he remembered.

In fact, he pulled the picture out, pointing to that photographed smile. She laughed again, tossing her head back. It bared her white, white throat, that dark velvet band of her necklace, again. "Why, you little thief! You got this at my house, didn't you?"

Snake-Eyes crossed his arms, nodding. Then he raised his arms and leaned forward slightly as if to say, "So whatcha gonna do about it?"

Her smile was sly, but her eyes were delighted when she looked back up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Hah! You little flirt!"

After looking at the picture in her hand, she added, "Well, I suppose my smile hasn't changed at all since then, huh. That's what you meant, didn't you?"

He nodded.

When she finished her breakfast, she stood up, holding the blanket around her and scooping up the duffel bag. "I think…" she glanced down at the blanket trailing on the floor, the bare curve of her shoulders, "I'd better go make use of your presents, huh?"

As she stood, even though she was covered by the blanket, she noticed him watching her with that same sharp intensity—it was as if she could see his eyes sliding down her covered body, even through his mask.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow.

He quickly turned away, knowing he had been caught, and feeling either a bit awkward or guilty about it. Or both. Snake-Eyes honestly hadn't been in this situation before, and he wasn't quite sure how to handle it. This certainly wasn't the same little girl that he had saved some years ago. Out of respect for her, he remained with his back turned as she glided from the bed to the bathroom.

_Oh. So… was he really… looking at me… __that__ way?_

Scarlett felt that hated blush starting to creep over her cheeks as she turned towards the bathroom. She'd thought at first that it was maybe just her own fancy, but the way he'd turned his back to her so pointedly… She glanced at him, one last time, over her shoulder, but he was still facing away from her, his head dipped, as if a little embarrassed. She was unable to keep a shy smile from curving her lips as she went into the bathroom to use the shower and change clothes.

But the smile faded when she glanced at herself in the mirror, and saw Scarlett looking back at her, rather than Shana. She'd tried to get most of her makeup off the night before, but there was still some liner smeared around her eyes—her hair was in a teased, tangled fluff of waves around her head. Her outfit was… well, that hadn't changed, and that wasn't for the better. _He really must think I'm some kind of deviant, maybe some sort of slut. I mean… the first time he sees me in ten years, and I'm wiggling my butt onstage? I knew I should have never taken that job, no matter how badly we needed the money._

But she'd been desperate. The accident had taken away her father's ability to walk, but more importantly, his ability to teach martial arts: he'd, reluctantly, been forced to sell the dojo. With the last of their savings gone, and her father's house on the brink of foreclosure… she'd known she didn't have many other choices. Dancing made surprisingly good money—for one thing, she made more on tips than any other girl in the club—and there was nothing else that paid quite as well, not for a nineteen-year-old without even a college degree. She couldn't let the house she'd grown up in just get claimed by the bank, and all of her father's will to go on with it.

Not even the full ride that Yale had offered her—and which she'd deferred, her heart in her throat, her hands shaking a little as she'd written the letter—were worth that.

Her Pa didn't know she'd taken this job, and he certainly wouldn't have approved of it. Disability wasn't enough for him to get by. She hated lying to him. But he was a proud man: the only reason he let her help with the bills at all was that he thought she'd gotten some kind of long-term paid internship at a law firm in town.

Finally, she spoke to Snake-Eyes, right through the door. Maybe it didn't matter, but… but she wasworried about setting the record straight. Was that silly of her? But she _was. _"You know, I don't dance as often as you think, Snake-Eyes. I'm actually quite embarrassed that you saw me up there on stage. I wish I could explain to you..."

Her voice trailed off. He'd been so kind, but… there were limits to kindness. And nothing she said would sound like anything but an excuse.

_Oh, for Heaven's sakes, just shut up, Shana. He doesn't want to hear it, and you're sounding more ridiculous by the minute,_ she thought. _Besides, he can't answer you, and probably wouldn't even if he could. I mean, what could he say?_

It was just that the girl he'd seen on stage wasn't her, not really, and 'Atlanta's Own, Scarlett' definitely wasn't the girl that she wanted her rescuer of many years before to see. Scarlett was only her stage name; she was Shana O'Hara, and would always be. And what must he have thought of her, after seeing her doing _that? _And he was being such a gentleman, turning around while she walked from the bedroom to the bathroom, giving her the only small bits of privacy he could.

Stripping off her skirt and leather corset, she sighed, dropping them onto the bathroom floor. It felt good to have them off: though the outfit was designed to not dig unattractively into anything while she danced, it was meant to be sexy, not to be comfortable. The leather was too warm for the Atlanta humidity, and she'd had it on for quite awhile. She couldn't wait for the warm water from the shower as her naked body pulled back the curtains, and turned on the water. It took a while for the water to warm up in the cheap hotel, but once it did, she eagerly stepped in, instantly feeling the warm water cascading down her back. Tossing her head back, rinsing her hair, it occurred to her that she had probably never had such a relaxing shower before in her life. Even if it was in a cheap hotel, and even if she did have a lingering doubt of her image in the eyes of her rescuer.

After quite a while, she stepped out of the shower and started drying herself off. Shana looked in the small, pockmarked mirror at herself, crossing her arms over her breasts, turning her face from side to side. She'd been told by countless boys—even more men—just how gorgeous she was; she understood that, without vanity. She _knew _she was sexy: genetics had given her a nice, shapely figure; years of martial arts and dancing had given her a better one. But now, for the first time since, well… since she'd been old enough to appreciate that men would like what they saw when they looked at her, she wondered: maybe, in this case, was she not pretty enough?

Shana pulled out the clothing from the bag. _Well, it looks like he has good taste._ She blinked at the tags, and her mouth quirked in a rueful smile. _And a good eye for size. _

She shimmied into the blouse, adjusted its little lacy sleeves and the built-in shelf bra comfortably. Oh, it felt so much better than that horrible leather thing… if she got out of this alive, there was _no _way she was going back to dancing in that outfit. But as she reached for the skirt, holding it up to her hips, she realized that she was lacking something… crucial.

Her dancing skirt hadn't exactly been a real skirt—it had a few convenient straps that kept her, well, as decent as she could get onstage at Club Honey. But it was too minimal for her to wear any underwear under it, and, well… he'd forgotten to acquire panties for her.

Scarlett brought her hands to her lips, and closed her eyes against the flush creeping up her cheeks again. For heavens sake, she _had_ to stop blushing like this in his vicinity, or else he really _would_ suspect something! She even turned around to glance quickly over her shoulder, knowing full well that the door was—of course—closed.

She chuckled at just how silly she was being—he'd forgotten to get her a bra, too, after all, but that didn't seem like as big a deal: thanks to the built-in shelf bra in the blouse, she didn't, strictly speaking, need one for… decency. "Um… how about we just assume that he… well… simply forgot," she told herself, quietly, sliding the skirt up over her hips. So far, he'd been the perfect gentleman, after all.

Fully dressed—or as dressed as she could get, anyway—she stepped out of the bathroom… and almost ran into him. Shana jumped back, startled. Walking out of the restroom to find a black-dressed commando close enough to touch _definitely_ wasn't a situation she was used to. And really, she had no idea what she should say to him—so it was much to her own surprise that she found herself comfortable enough to start laughing. "Snake-Eyes, don't startle me like that! So... are you watching me that closely since you're worried about me, or are you my very own personal stalker?"

She couldn't see his amused smile underneath the mask.

Snake-Eyes took a step towards her, and handed her a note that he must have written while she'd been in the bathroom, changing.

Unfolding it, she read out loud the words he'd written for her: "You don't have to explain anything to me. Truthfully, I'm impressed with what I've seen of you—you have a real inner strength and positive outlook on life. You are stronger than you realize."

Shana smiled. No matter what he'd seen, he was willing to recognize her for who and what she was? Oh, of course she'd been hoping more for a "You are SO gorgeous, no matter what you do!" but… that was half her vanity, half a girlish crush, talking at high volumes. She was old enough to understand what that gentle, unconditional acceptance was worth… even if she wished, a bit, that he could look at her like a _woman, _not just a person.

"So, my protector-slash-stalker," she grinned at him, and Snake-Eyes felt himself smiling, again, underneath his mask—he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people who felt comfortable enough around him to tease. "What's our next move?"

Snake-Eyes wrote down for Shana, "You stay put. I've already paid for the room, so you'll be safe. Give me two hours. If I'm not back, call 313-555-9280 and ask for Stalker. He's my teammate. Memorize this phone number, and burn this message, right now." Snake-Eyes was pointing to the candle on the desk.

"Wait… you're not leaving me again, are you?" A shadow crossed her eyes, like the memory of violence, and loss.

He nodded. He placed his hands gently on her shoulders, as if to say, "You'll be okay."

She took his hands, holding them cupped in her slender fingers, clearly anxious. Her fingers were softer, warmer, without the gloves. "Where are you going? I want to come with you."

He shook his head: _No_.

"Let me help you."

Snake-Eyes frowned, and gently tried to tug his hands free from hers. Her grip tightened, and he shook his head again, gesturing with his chin to the notepad peeking pale out of an unbuttoned pocket. "Oh," she blinked, sheepishly, and released his hands.

He pulled out his notepad, wrote briefly, and offered it to her. "Need to find the traitor."

Scarlett frowned back at him. "Hey, _you_ were the one who told me about my inner strength. Did you mean that, or were you just trying to make me feel better?"

Snake-Eyes didn't respond at first. She continued, "Okay, so I'm a bit young and inexperienced, but I can help. And I _want_ to help. They hurt me, just like they hurt you."

It was true, she'd lost a lot to the terrorist organization that had taken his face, his friends. But at the same time… she wasn't combat-ready. She just wasn't trained for this.

She shook her head, once, and looked up at him with eyes that were darker than just green, and… fiercer. She might not have been trained, but even in a frothy skirt and little sandals, her hair a messy, finger-combed cascade around her shoulders, he could see the same slow-burning strength that he'd seen in a little girl faced with impossible circumstances. That strength had grown with her into a banked flame, and when she reached out for his hands again, her grip was firm. "Snake-Eyes… I'm sure I know Atlanta a lot better than you do. And I don't know how good you are with computers, but…" her mouth flickered in a small smile, "I bet I'm better. What happens if _you_ need help?"

Most of his missions with the team were solo operations—the idea that he might need help from a noncombatant was… well… but this wasn't exactly the typical mission. He also had to admit, he didn't like her staying in one fixed location for more than a twenty-four hour period. It was always best to keep on the move... and if he left her here for any extended lengths of time, the odds of her being found would go up dramatically. Reluctantly, slowly, he nodded his head.

To his surprise, she squealed, and let go of his hands—only to throw her arms around him and hug him tightly, her right leg kicking up behind her. He hadn't been expecting that at all—but she was warm and soft and laughing, and when she let him go, he realized he'd enjoyed the impromptu embrace.

It'd been a long time since anyone had felt free to touch him so casually, either. He'd certainly never had anyone squeal as if he'd just offered her to the keys to a brand-new Dodge Viper. Or… whatever it was young women squealed over.

And he had to remind himself that, in his early thirties, he _was _quite a few years older than she was, as a matter of fact, and there were certainly parameters that needed to be made clear before they were going anywhere. Regretfully, he disentangled himself from her and reached for his notepad, again.

"Rules:

1) We find Stalker, and ONLY Stalker. He's the only one we can trust right now.

2) If I point behind you and no one is behind you, or if I wave to you, it means to run. Don't wait for me. No matter what.

3) Stay no more than 5 feet away from me at all times."

Shana frowned, a little. She was still excited that she would be going with him—maybe they'd even find clues about who and what had killed her mother. But… seriously? A list of _rules_? Yes, she was nineteen, and no, she hadn't been trained by SWAT, but… being treated like she was still nine years old set her teeth on edge. He meant well, probably, but… did the man not know how to just _ask?_

Still, in a way, it was… kind of funny. _No more than five feet from him? Is he serious?_

Shana eyed him, cocking her head. Well… _he_ thought he was, anyway.

"Yes, _daddy_," she sighed, crossing her arms and tapping one sandal on the floor—but when he glanced sharply at her, she was smiling, ruefully. She caught his eye and smiled, wider—that same brilliant, happy smile that was becoming so familiar.

_This is against my better judgment, but at least I can keep an eye on her this way,_ he thought.

Making a motion with his hands as if striking a match, he pointed to the candle, and then to all of the notes that he'd written for her.

"I get it, I get it," she chuckled, waving a hand breezily at him—but she carried the pile of notes over to the candles. And had to work hard to hide her little smile from him when he stepped closer to her shoulder to watch, critically, as the flame devoured the bits of paper with small puffs of smoke. _Pushy, aren't we, sir?_


	15. Chapter 15: Help from Stalker

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: HELP FROM STALKER**

The fact that Snake-Eyes was able to sneak onto a military installation in a post 9/11 world was impressive. The fact that, six hours later, he was standing in Robins Air Force Base _with Shana_ was nothing short of impossible. There were several places with camera surveillance, however, that even he couldn't sneak past without destroying the cameras and giving away his position, so he found a good location for them to sit and wait, without attracting attention. If he couldn't make it to Stalker, then he'd let Stalker come to them.

He was impressed with Shana's patience. She never said a word the entire time, even though a stake-out was probably the most painful and boring job anyone could have. When he glanced over at her, her eyes were open, but still, so still—until they focused on him and a flame-bright eyebrow tilted upwards in query. He cocked his head curiously.

She smiled, and shrugged a shoulder. Mouthed one word at him: _meditating._

Hm. Smart girl

But their patience paid off. Snake saw Stalker leaving the building where the team had set up the temporary Command Post for this mission. _Good, he's still here,_ he thought. He wouldn't have been surprised at all if the team had given him up as missing in action, and gone back to The Pit for further planning. He'd missed his check-in time by an entire day.

Snake-Eyes snapped his fingers, once, sharply enough that Shana jumped—but Stalker glanced over, sharply, body tensing automatically. He dropped out of readiness, his eyes widening with surprise, when their gazes met, and Snake-Eyes flicked his hand in a quick 'come here.' He could see his friend's eyes flicking carefully to the side—no-one paying attention. Good. Stalker wandered over, casually, his hands in his pockets, but his face demanded answers.

Snake-Eyes only wished he had more of them to give.

"Snake! Where on Earth you been, man? You way overshot your return time," he whispered, glancing around. "Firewall gave me the info on your trajectory, but then you never reported back. We sent out a small team looking for you. I could only cover you for so long. Hawk is seriously gonna be pissed about this, man..." He saw Stalker's eyebrows rising as he glanced behind him and saw Shana, crouching behind a crate in her blouse and skirt. "What's going on, Snake?"

It was a relief to use sign language with someone who was familiar with it—gesturing and writing got tiresome after awhile.

Snake-Eyes signed, *We were right, there's a traitor in the unit. This is the girl that we were looking for. But we were ambushed when we crossed paths -- someone had tipped them off that we were coming.*

He watched his friend's face as he gave him the worse news: *If this and the attack on Ring-Halasp are connected…* and he couldn't see how they wouldn't be, *…the traitor has to be one of our veterans. One of the originals.*

But he could see from the look on Stalker's face that 'Lonzo had already figured that out. He exhaled sharply. "Oh, man. This is not good. Any ideas who?"

*No. At this point, it's not me, and it's not you. Probably not Rock n' Roll, either, since he was torn up during the explosion. That leaves Breaker, Flash, Grand Slam, Zap, Clutch, Steeler, Grunt…* his hands dipped for a moment, but he had to say it. *Even Hawk.*

"No _way_ it was Hawk."

Snake-Eyes cocked his head. *Are you sure?* If it _was_ their C.O., the one who relayed missions down from the higher-ups, they were seriously screwed, but… that didn't mean that it was impossible.

Stalker sighed. "Damn. I'm not sure about anything, I guess."

*Well, be careful. If we've got one mole in the unit, there could be others. Maybe check with Rock and see what he thinks. But we don't know about him, either: him getting hit could have been friendly fire.*

"This is messed up, Snake." Stalker's mouth twisted. "You're talking about our own brothers and sisters. They watch our backs. We fight alongside them every freakin' _day._"

Snake-Eyes nodded.

After thinking for a moment, trying to clear his mind, Stalker looked at Shana, and gestured for her to stand up. "Nice to see you again, little lady. Been a while. You look a little different." He managed a smile for her: poor thing hadn't asked to be dragged into this. "Snake hasn't scared you _too_ much, has he?" He was at least half-joking, but… well, a mute guy wearing head-to-toe black, a mask, a visor, and carrying enough weaponry to level half of Atlanta was not a comforting sight for young ladies, he figured. She didn't look all that bothered, but… "I'm Stalker."

Shana smiled back at him. "No, not _too_ much. I'm Shana." She remembered Stalker, dimly—he had the same dark eyes and warm smile, even though time had carved a few more tired lines into his face. She was fascinated with how quickly Snake-Eyes was signing, and how Stalker had, apparently, been able to understand him so well.

Looking around again to make sure the cover was still clear, Stalker asked, "Okay, Snake. Tell me what you need from me."

*She doesn't remember anything about her mom's work, but if you can find any leads on where we could check, it might help. Maybe jog her memory a little. We need to find those documents, Stalker.* Yeah, he knew that part already.

Stalker grimaced, and glanced at the girl—this beautiful little lady had been dragged into it, and the only way to get her out now was to end this.

Knowing Shana couldn't understand his signing, Snake-Eyes signed, *I told her as much as I could, but she doesn't know about the bomb.* Which made a whole world of sense: that was the kind of pressure that even military guys with years of training cracked under.

Stalker nodded. "I understand. I'll see what I can do."

He watched his friend's head dip, thoughtfully, before Snake signed, *Ask her something for me. Ask if her house has ever been broken into.*

Stalker raised an eyebrow, but turned to her. Kind of made a guy wonder just how they'd been communicating in the twenty-four hours since Snake had fallen off the radar, but he figured Snake had made do. "Shana, he's asking if your house has been broken into. Maybe even recently."

"Um…" she blinked. "Yeah… well, a few times, actually. It's been happening for years. My dad keeps getting security system upgrades, but it doesn't seem to stop them. But they never take anything, so we just always figured that it was some weird folk who think it's fun to get in and out of people's houses." Her eyes widened. "But… you know, I was nine when it happened the first time. I remember, we'd just had Mama's funeral, and everyone was so angry…" her breath hissed through her teeth, her eyes narrowing. Stalker's eyebrow tilted up again: yeah, the girl had fire, all right. "That was them, huh? The police even told us that it was just a coincidence."

Stalker smiled, grimly. Yeah, well, their business and coincidence had never exactly been good friends. "Probably looking for your mom's records. But… Hell, that was over ten years ago. Why are they _still_ looking for them at your place?"

*Stalker, I have an idea.* Snake-Eyes signed. *I'll keep in touch.*

Stalker rolled his eyes. "Look, man, my heart can only take so much of the ninja hocus-pocus sneaking around. Here." He dug into his pockets, and finally, tossed him a phone. "I'll call you on the secure line if I find anything."


	16. Chapter 16: The Search

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: THE SEARCH**

"Why are we back here, Snake-Eyes?"

He could see Scarlett looking at the soft, faded-white façade of her house with a very dubious expression. Back to writing, unfortunately. He jotted down his reply. "Is anyone home? We need to search your place."

Shana didn't look all that optimistic about their chances of finding anything, but she shrugged. "Pa's car is gone, and it's just him and me, these days. Sometimes my older brothers and sister visit, but not on a weekday like this. Do you think Mama actually left something here? We've been robbed four times in the last decade... don't you think they'd have already found it, if they were looking?"

Snake-Eyes smiled, slightly, and wrote, "If they'd found something… they wouldn't have kept looking."

He saw her smile back, a little wryly, when she read his note. "You know, I always figured that, I don't know, people were breaking into our house because the police just don't come out this far." A shudder shook her shoulders, before she straightened. "I had no idea that it could be something much bigger than that. We're lucky they didn't kill us!"

Snake wrote as he walked towards the house, "You are, but they wouldn't have had any reason to kill you." After all, the dead couldn't talk. Of course, the part he didn't write down was the fact that most terrorists would have had no qualms about capturing and torturing her to make her talk, and Scarlett was indeed lucky they hadn't done that. His note continued, "Did your mother have a study or a work place?"

"She did..."

Snake-Eyes bowed slightly over one outstretched leg, gesturing her forward with a sweep of his open hand over his knee. He looked every inch, she thought, the gentleman of an older time, indicating that his lady should precede him.

Well, if gentlemen in those days had worn black skintight suits, full-face masks, and a bandolier of weaponry across their chests, anyway.

Scarlett had to grin. "Why thank you, sir," she drawled, in an exaggerated Southern-belle falsetto, dipping him back a quick bobbed curtsy. She minced forward through the doorway of her own home, holding up an imaginary parasol, and she thought she could feel him smiling right through the mask.

By the time they'd reached the study, though, she wasn't really sure she felt like playing anymore. "This used to be my oldest brother's bedroom, but when he moved out, mama went back to work and turned his room into her office. She offered it to daddy, but he didn't need it since he worked at the dojo." The dojo he'd then lost, after her death.

Snake-Eyes moved into the center of the room, looking around. The room still looked like a study. A small desk was pushed against the wall, a rolling chair seated next to it. But there were also framed, fading watercolor prints up on the walls, a border of calla lilies edging the wallpaper, and a small pearl-grey daybed with a multitude of jewel-toned pillows piled on top of it. For a study, it was both surprisingly homey, and clearly belonging to a woman.

But when he glanced over his shoulder, Shana was still standing at the doorway, her hands folded in front of her, silent. Snake-Eyes guessed that she probably didn't come in this room often. She and her family must not have changed a thing after the death of Mrs. O'Hara. The room clearly didn't get much use anymore—the books on the shelves were years out-of-date, the spines cracking and peeling, and there was a soft, musty smell of disuse and old leather to the room.

But he'd glanced through the room once before, opened the desk's drawers, and not seen anything obvious. _Let's take a broader look,_ Snake thought. He walked over to the bookshelf and started carefully pulling out books, opening them—their leather bindings cracked under his fingers with even gentle pressure. After a moment, he felt an elbow brush his—Shana, beside him, was doing the same. But they were all just what they looked like: old books. He stood on a chair to reach over the blades of the ceiling fan—found his fingers full of dust, and nothing else.

It wasn't until Shana walked over to close the door that something caught Snake-Eyes' gaze. When the door was open, the hinges, bent, hid the screws and bolts from his sight. But when she closed it… the middle hinge was just the slightest bit duller than the shiny brass finish of the others. He walked over and touched it. All three were the same make, but the center one seemed to have a few more scratches, a little more wear and tear. And… his eyes narrowed as he looked closer. _The screws in this middle hinge look a little stripped._ Which didn't necessarily mean anything—it could have easily happened back when the door had first been installed—but…

He pulled a tiny tool kit off his belt and pulled out a small screwdriver, gently undoing the suspicious screws. They _were_ stripped: he could feel it when he pressed in the screwdriver head. A soft sound of breath behind him made him turn; Shana was watching over his shoulder, as if taking mental notes of what he was doing.

The hinge popped open, revealing a slender, rectangular defect in the door's wooden structure. Inside the thin opening was a small, black thumb drive.


	17. Chapter 17: Waiting

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: WAITING**

Stalker's phone buzzed. "SE" flashed, once, onscreen. He clicked through the text—he half-smiled, remembering Snakes' amusement and delight when he'd first discovered texting. But his smile faded when he read, "Objective located. Forwarding files now. Investigate and contact me with further information. Do not distribute."

"What've you gotten for us, Snake?" he whispered to himself. The documents downloaded quickly onto his Blackberry… but there were a lot of them. Excel files, from the looks of them—dozens of them. "Oh, man. Yeah, you got 'em, all right, but this is gonna take awhile to sort through…"

----

After listening to the answering machine, Shana found out that her father was visiting one of her aunts and uncles in Richmond, and would be gone for another few days. They'd found what Snake-Eyes needed, but after a quick glance at the information, well… she'd been top of her class in math, but just the sight of that many figures made her wrinkle her nose at the computer screen. And cross her eyes at it for good measure—it wasn't a good sign that the numbers didn't get any _less _confusing that way.

Until she swung around in her rolling chair, glanced over her shoulder at Snake-Eyes, and found his shoulders shaking in a rather suspicious manner.

"Are you… laughing at me?" she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at him.

He shrugged, as if to reply, "You're making funny faces at a computer—what else did you expect me to do?" But then he patted her shoulder, gently, and she could almost see him wrinkling his own nose at the screen.

She scowled playfully up at him, and raised an arch eyebrow. "What?! No secret identity as a mild-mannered certified public accountant? What kind of superhero are you, anyway?!"

This time, when his shoulders started shaking, she was laughing with him.

So right now, all they could do was lay low and wait for Stalker to get some analyses on the information they'd found: obviously, neither of them could do anything with it themselves. As usual, Snake-Eyes made sure that the house was locked-up around them, set the alarms with his usual precision, and mentally noted options for escape routes.

Her house wasn't the best place to wait—it was too big to be easily defensible—but at least it wasn't too predictable: if they were supposed to be on the run, her house would be the _last_ place they would go. And this way, at least they had a safe, comfortable place for a little R&R. Snake-Eyes had the sinking feeling that very soon, rest and relaxation would seem like a distant, dreamy memory.

Shana's bedroom actually had the best survey vantage point in the entire house. He stood by the window with his binoculars raised, legs just slightly spread: standing sentry was a position he was well-accustomed to.

Obviously, much of the time they spent together was in silence—after all, Snake mused, wryly, it was difficult keeping a conversation going when only one person could do the talking. She tried, he had to admit that. Surprisingly, though, she didn't seem to mind her voice being the only one resounding through her bedroom.

She asked him about what he did, his service history, how long he'd been in the military—he didn't correct her assumption: she was safer thinking he was standard Covert Ops. He couldn't tell her much—not only was much of his life classified, but writing was tedious, and took his attention away from sentry duty—but he wondered just how much she was getting from his terse replies. More than once, he found himself surprised by how often she was responding to what he'd _meant_ to say, rather than what he'd actually written down. And when he mentioned, briefly, that he'd spent time in Japan, he found her standing next to him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, gently, before releasing his hand and backing away. "I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."

It really had been a long time since someone had offered him these small gestures, that careful contact. Longer since anyone had cared enough to offer sympathy. Longer still since anyone had known him well enough to know when it was merited. It was nice—it was very nice—but… a little eerie.

Finally, he picked up his notepad and wrote, "How are you doing that?"

"Hmm?" he glanced backwards at her odd tone, and found her sitting on the floor, body bowed in an elegant curve as she stretched out her hamstrings—first one leg, then the other. It didn't surprise him that she could make a full pike-stretch, her torso pressed to her legs, fingers curled around the balls of her feet, look easy. "Doing what?"

"You seem to know what I want to answer before I have the chance to write it down."

She straightened, and twisted, arching her body over her outstretched legs in a side-stretch. "Oh. Really? Well, it's nice to know that I'm right." Her smile flashed at him, sideways, mischievous. "I can't see your face, Snake-Eyes but I'm pretty good at reading body language… and, well, you're wearing a skintight outfit. It's more body than I get to see on most people."

Well, that was… convenient, but… inconvenient. Snake-Eyes highly suspected that if he could blush, he'd be blushing. She hadn't meant it quite the way it'd sounded.

Probably.

But the little sighs and grunts and murmurous noises she made as she went back to her stretching and he turned back to the window were more distracting than she should have been.

A little later, he heard her rise back up to her feet and tell his back, "But now that I think about it… it's a pretty obnoxious habit, isn't it? I _could_ just study up on some sign language, but… " he didn't have to look at her to see her grinning again, "…having you think I'm psychic is kind of fun."

Snake-Eyes laughed his soundless laugh, but he nodded, still looking out the window. He jotted down, "Maybe, but it's not as practical."

She giggled. "Only with you, it's plenty practical with other people! But I guess we have some time to kill; maybe I'll start right now?" he heard her trotting over to the computer, starting it up with the hum of the processor. She was quiet for a long while after that, and when he stole a quick look over, he saw her intently forming the letters of the alphabet with graceful fingers.

How long _had_ it been since he'd actually had a real conversation that didn't involve his work with someone? But as nice as this was, he could feel his nerves winding tighter, tighter. Snake-Eyes liked her—he liked her too well; he couldn't see how anyone could not. But everyone close to him either ended up hurt or dead, and… he'd watched most of them die. He knew all-too-well that one of the worst situations any person could be in was having to protect someone that they cared about. How often he'd been there.

He didn't even want to imagine the horror of getting this sweet, genuine young woman killed, with her hero-worship and her trust and her sly humor. The thought of leaving her back to her own ordinary, Atlanta, Georgia life sent a bittersweet pang through him, but… as much as he enjoyed being with her, the sooner that this mission ended, the better off she'd be. He just had to keep her safe a little longer.

Finally, after several hours, she lapsed into silence—he stole another quick glance and found her sprawled belly-down over her bed, her chin in her hands, just watching him with surprisingly eloquent eyes. After a moment of hesitation, he wrote down, "Shana O' Hara?" and handed her the paper.

She gave him an inquiring look and pushed herself into sitting up. "That's my name, yes?"

"All these years, and I never actually knew your name," he admitted. _Very pretty. It suits you._ But he didn't say that."I didn't figure it out until I saw it on the trophies. They are very impressive, by the way. You must be quite good."

Shana snickered and hopped off the bed—her friends always teased that when someone started her talking about martial arts, it was impossible to get her to stop. "Oh, the best!" she exclaimed. It wasn't a boast, not totally—she _was _the Georgia state champion in taekwondo, and she still regretted, a little, not having had the money to go to Nationals. She dipped him a quick, graceful forty-five degree angle bow—the same kind that she'd have given any opponent in a tournament—then dropped into stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. "Care to find out?"

He kept looking out the window, without responding. But she couldn't see the smile that curved his lips, under his mask.

"What? You're not even responding to a challenge! Tsk, tsk," she shook her head, mournfully, but she couldn't keep the fake regret up for long—egging him on was fun. "Gosh, you scared to fight a girl, tough guy?" This time, she grinned and cracked out a quick turning-roundhouse, her skirt snapping satisfyingly. "I bet I could take you down."

This time, he actually did turn away from the window and look at her—but she had to laugh out loud when he held up his pointer finger—and waggled it a solid "NO," back and forth. She couldn't tell if he meant, "No, I'm not scared," or if he meant, "No, not right now."

Or maybe "No, you couldn't take me down in a million years."

"No?" Shana grinned—then held up a hand. "You mean this, right?"

She could almost see him blinking, his posture visibly startled as she carefully signed "No" at him, pinching her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger together in mid-air—but she definitely saw his mask moving as he grinned back.

The moment was interrupted by a phone call.

Picking up the phone and recognizing Stalker's number, Snake-Eyes pressed the 7 and 3 digits on the phone with a harsh twang of beeps to verify his identity. "Snake, listen up." 'Lonzo sounded tired, but triumphant. "Look, I had to get Firewall's help with some of this, but she's the only one I brought in. You did it, buddy—this is it. This is what we've been looking for. Your little lady's mother must have figured something out, because every inch of this thumb drive is solid evidence. The terrorists hit a Hell of a streak of luck when she was killed in that blast—I don't think they realized what data she was gathering."

"Firewall is still going through it, but here's what we've got so far: they had a backup site in Atlanta, five blocks away from Ring-Halasp. It's a pawn shop that they were using to filter their funds, and it was set up only a few months before our mission. And I'll tell you what, the money was hard to trace, but our girl Firewall here is worth any price tag. You ready for the bad news, Snake?"

Without waiting for Snake-Eyes to reply, Stalker continued. "We chased down the identity of the man who owns the pawn shop. After going through three different fake names and enough firewalls—no pun intended—to count as napalm, we finally found his real name. Check it out: Rafael J. Melendez."

Snake-Eyes' heart froze. _That's __Zap__!_


	18. Chapter 18: Traitor

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: TRAITOR**

"Where is Zap now?" Snake texted.

"That's just the thing," Stalker replied. "He was supposed to be on the jet back to The Pit with the others when the team got pulled, but he told _them_ that he was staying here as my backup. Basically, he's unaccounted for."

"Let me guess," he texted again. "Firewall told Zap when I was going to the Club to find Shana? That's how they found me."

Stalker sighed, and Snake-Eyes could hear the frustration in his old friend's voice, "Yeah, I should have figured it out sooner. She told me, Zap, Flash, and Breaker. SOP, you know, letting the rest of the Alpha Team know the score, but… she feels bad about it all the same. Go easy on her, okay?"

_That's how they knew I'd be looking for Shana. _He tapped the O key quickly, then hung up. The smile was gone from Shana's face, and her eyes were harder than he'd expected when she looked at him, her chin level, that soft, pink bow of a mouth firm.

"You've found something," she said, and there was no question in her voice. "About the people who killed my mother." And when he gestured for her to follow him, she was already moving towards him by the time he completed the hand motion.

_Zap, that traitor!_ He'd known it was someone on the veteran team. He'd known it. But… it was still a shock. A horror. All the missions they'd been on together—the veteran team were the closest thing he had to a family, and knowing that one of them had tried to betray them to their deaths…

Snake-Eyes ground his teeth, feeling his hands clenching and unclenching into fists. He didn't look for violence. He never had. But he had the feeling that if he came across Zap, he'd personally rip off the man's head for all the damage he'd done.

Zap was a badass, too. And smart. All of the original team members were; they had to be in order to be selected to the unit. They'd have their work cut out, bringing down Zap. In particular, Zap was always cool and calm under fire... Grunt and Clutch would often call him "The Iceman" because he never froze up.

Nonetheless, for all the blood he spilt and pain he caused, Snake was going to make him pay.

Now, more than ever, he really regretted having agreed to take Shana with him, rather than leaving her in the hotel. It was one thing to deal with terrorists—another dealing with someone who was his equal, one of his own team. Especially one who would have had access to her personal information. He'd been hoping beyond hope that his instincts about the existence of a traitor was wrong. _Should have left her there – she'd have been safer._

But now he couldn't even leave her here at the house; the Peach Tree, at least, had had no connection to her. If the terrorists had gotten even the slightest inkling that there was anything in the house to find, there was a terrible possibility that they could do something like simply blow the house up to prevent his team from getting to it first. And if they got their hands on Shana, they'd ransom her. Or just kill her: at this point, she really _did_ know too much.

_And whose fault is that, Snake-Eyes?_

But now he had no choice. He'd let Stalker and Firewall dig up more information and hopefully find out where the bomb was, but he'd have to take Shana with him to the pawn shop. Hopefully they'd find Zap, or at least more answers, there.

----

It didn't take long to find the place. It was located downtown, in a somewhat shabby part of town that had once been more genteel; the shop window was full of small ivory statuettes and delicate paintings, antique pipes, rather than the thick gold chains or rhythm guitars that were typically on display in most pawnshops. It was the perfect front for a terrorist organization, he thought: unremarkable for the neighborhood, but a little odd of itself. The hand-stenciled sign indicated that the shop had closed an hour ago.

Snake-Eyes decided that a quick external survey of the two-hour building would be a good idea, before attempting to penetrate the building defenses. For one, nightfall would be complete by then—this wasn't a club, where intoxication blurred people's eyes, and it was still too bright out for him to feel comfortable trying a lock.

Shana watched everything Snake-Eyes was doing with wide, green eyes. It wasn't hard to decipher what he was doing, but watching him disappear into shadows, seeing the quick, predator grace in the way he prowled around the building perimeter… it was… surprisingly intoxicating. In fact, she realized, with some chagrin, that she'd had every intention of helping him with his survey… but she'd spent more time studying _him _than the surroundings of the building.

But by the time darkness had finally set, he was just a darker shadow settling in for the night—she almost jumped when he touched her wrist. But he was just pressing a note into her hand. She had to squint to read it.

"Remember the rules. Stay behind me, and stay close. If anything goes wrong, get out of here and get back to Stalker. Do NOT wait for me. If I wave to you, I'm telling you goodbye, and that means to RUN, and find Stalker. Are we good?"

_Ugh--those stupid rules of his, again. _Of course she remembered—how thick did he think she was? She chewed on her lip, narrowing her eyes; she'd taken it with a smile the first time, but this was getting ridiculous: she wasn't a child, to wander off the moment he took his attention off her. "Yes, _fine_," she bit out. "We're good." As Snake-Eyes turned around to walk to the building, Shana curled a hand into a fist, holding it up and aiming carefully right between his shoulder blades. She wasn't actually planning to hit him, but oh, just cranking it back and _imagining…_

Snake-Eyes, without missing a step, continued to walk and held up his hand, making a "no-no" motion with a quick finger-wag over his shoulder. Shana was stunned. _Wha--? How...? Eyes in the back of his head? _

But with him walking away from her, all she could do was smile reluctantly, brush her red hair from her face, and follow him.

The lock was a simple one, but not cheap—Snake-Eyes felt for the pins with his eyes half-closed. Six pins, but they caught quickly; it made sense, as any thief would have gotten suspicious if it had been anything more complex. Just inside the doors, Snake-Eyes glanced around, making sure everything was clear. It seemed to be. The pawn shop was cluttered with bric-a-brac and old nonsense—a suit of armor on a stand, some antique pistols, what looked like a genuine _naginata_ leaning against a corner… a fair amount of it was strange enough that looking for anything out of place would have been futile. Instead, he slid behind the counter, with Shana only two steps behind him.

_Not the cash register—that's too obvious, too much of a target—but they'd want it where someone could watch it… _he glanced around, inspecting what was in easiest view of the counter. He'd just found a small secret panel when he heard a soft, grating noise.

He ducked beneath the counter and motioned for Shana to do the same—but blinked to notice that she'd already followed his lead, crouching beside him. On one knee, with his other knee bent, he leaned forward slowly while his hand went for his sword. He crossed his fingers, hoping Shana could keep it together. _She shouldn't be in this kind of situation. _Hadn't she seen enough in her lifetime already?

A man carrying a machine gun rounded the corner from the hallway, stepping into the main area of the pawn shop—just on the other side of the counter. Judging by his relaxed posture, he was doing his rounds, rather than investigating anything in particular. He definitely hadn't seen the two intruders hiding behind the counter.

_A button-up shirt and jeans on a pawnshop guard – not remarkable. An M-16, though—we're on to something._ The commando remained still, still, still, hoping the man wouldn't see them. The only thing that separated Snake-Eyes and the armed individual was the wooden bulk of the counter between them, and a distance of only three feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, the man with the gun spotted something out of place. A hint of red behind the counter—he rolled his eyes. He'd heard the stories of the crazy old lady who came in and tried to sneak out with a certain red wig once a week or so, but what was the thing doing behind the counter?

He stepped closer—and found himself looking into a pair of wide, green eyes, in an exquisite heart-shaped face.

They stared at each other for one impossibly long, breathless second—before the man whirled, his arm coming around, the gun's barrel sweeping towards her.

_No! _In one lightning-fast motion, Snake-Eyes vaulted upwards, reaching over the countertop, drawing his carbon-steel sword with the faintest ring of metal against metal. With his free hand, he grabbed the man's right wrist... preventing him from aiming at Shana, and yanked him towards himself, the gun sliding underneath his own arm and pointing harmlessly at nothing but the lower part of the back wall—and as the man lurched in his direction, Snake-Eyes shoved his sword in through the stomach—and _upwards_. He felt the barest hint of pressure as the sword pierced liver—and then diaphragm, with a pop.

Then his sword was out, and he could see the very beginnings of understanding in the man's wide eyes.

As the man started to fall backwards, Snake-Eyes saw that mouth opening wide—screaming, almost silent but for a soft wet bubbling. But those hands clenched, jerked, yanking on the trigger through his fingers. Machine-gun fire ricocheted through the small room, destroying a row of electric guitars on a low shelf in front of the counter. Snake-Eyes kicked out over the counter, and the machine gun went spinning away behind the counter as the man crumpled, the bubbling silenced—but the echoes of automatic fire still echoed around the store. Too loud—impossible to miss. Impossible to ignore. _Shit! Not good. Not good at all._

Shana looked up from her hiding spot behind the counter as Snake-Eyes waved at her—then he pointed towards the door, his body one long line of tension and violence. No mistaking what _that _meant: he couldn't have been any more clear if he'd yelled "Abort the mission!"

But just as she vaulted over the counter, the sound of more gunfire rattled the room, and two more armed assailants dove out of the hallway. She cried out in shock as a streak of fire raced across her shoulder, and she stumbled away, diving behind one of the aisles. Flattening herself to the ground as the bullets sprayed blindly against the shelves, Scarlett crawled as fast as she could away from the fighting—at least their view of her was obstructed by all the shelves and knickknacks. Something wet ran down her arm, and stung.

Snake-Eyes never had the chance to follow her: he'd had to duck back behind the counter as the bullets started flying in earnest, pinging and crashing loudly off the myriad objects. Switching his sword to his left hand, he reached out and grabbed the M-16 from where it had clattered to the ground behind the counter. When he returned fire, it was enough to drive their two assailants backwards. All he had to do was buy some time, get her out of there… he ducked back behind the counter as they returned fire. The next time he looked up, they'd split up and taken strategic positions flanking him… and a third man came down the hallway, his eyes sharp and hot, his own submachine gun cradled in expert hands.

_We're in over our heads, _Snake-Eyes thought. If he'd been by himself, thing would have been different… but he wasn't. At least they were no longer shooting at Shana—they weren't stupid, the man in the commando gear carrying the machine gun was more than a threat than the young girl with the wide green eyes, dressed in civilian clothes.

_I have to get her out of here._ Snake-Eyes looked out again around the side of the counter, and for a moment, didn't see her anywhere—for an instant, he couldn't breathe. But—there—green eyes, looking straight at him through a gap in the aisles, wide and frightened. She was staying close to the floor, out of the way of the flying bullets—_smart girl. _It would have been impossible for him to get a good shot at all of the men holding guns on them, but he could at least distract them with cover fire, give her some time to make it to the door.

He raised a hand and waved at her, pointing to the door emphatically—Snake-Eyes was instantly glad that he'd forced her to agree to the "Get out, run to Stalker, and don't look back," signal. He saw her eyes blink, once, very slowly; she'd seen him. They only had one really good try at this—he slid up against the counter, peered over for just long enough to ascertain that the terrorists hadn't moved—and then held his gun up just enough to spray a few blind bursts in their direction. _Go, Shana—GO!_

But when he looked over at her again, she hadn't moved.

Then he had to duck back behind the counter as their assailants returned fire.

_SHANA! Don't freeze up!_ He wanted to scream at her. _Run!_ For the first time in years, he truly needed to use his voice—someone's life hung in the balance—and he _couldn't_. When the spate of bullets crackled to a stop once more, he looked out again—she was still looking at him. He pointed at the door again, wondering if she could see his fear and frustration—wondering if maybe, maybe she was too scared to see anything at all.

This wooden counter couldn't protect him forever—any minute now, they'd probably decide to take their chances and rush him from three sides. He'd take down at least one of them, but all it would take was one lucky bullet. And if they had any grenades, he was done for. This room was too small and too full of debris for him to use one of his own—he had some cover behind this counter, but Shana didn't; she'd be injured, even killed.

Snake fired a few bursts again. He looked over, and Shana still hadn't moved. _Fuck, __I'm going to have to go out there and get her if she's got any chance of making it out of here. _Which meant that he was going to have to choose how he moved very wisely, because he was definitely going to take a few bullets on the way over. The helplessness he felt skimmed dangerously close to fury—it took one long breath before he felt that he could focus enough to do this.

But when he looked over at her again, the green eyes blinked, once… and disappeared. He saw the shadows of her black blouse, then her green skirt, the barest hint of motion.

What... what was she doing? She wasn't petrified with fear anymore—good, that was good—but… she was crawling, not running, and in the wrong direction?! Before he knew it, she'd disappeared around a corner. Where did she think she was—if the terrorists heard her moving, she was going to get herself killed! His odds of getting out of this alive didn't look good, but if she would JUST do what he said, at least _she_ would have a chance!

Raising his weapon over the counter's edge, he fired another few short bursts, just enough to make them take cover. His ammunition was running low, and time was running out.

He knew he had to do _something_. But if he stopped firing at them, they'd start coming towards him—and they'd have to pass her aisle to get to him. Right now, he had cover, she didn't, and they'd just… _no! _He'd just about decided to try and take each of them with a quick burst of pot-shots when he heard an odd sound—a _thwip-TWANG_, then a _thunk_.

Someone swore, "What the _fuck_—there's another one?! _There—"_

But in the rattle of gunfire—gunfire that _wasn't_ aimed in his direction—that odd sound echoed in his ears again… and, shrilly, abruptly, one of the gunmen screamed in pain.

_What is going on?!_ But he wasn't one to waste a distraction: he popped up from behind the counter, took quick aim, and just barely kept his heart from stopping when he realized that they were shooting in the direction of Shana's aisle. His burst tattooed bullets across the first assailant's chest, and he crumpled to the ground. His second burst painted the second man's face bright red, caving in his features.

Snake-Eyes blinked, momentarily startled, as the second attacker slumped against the wall. There was an… arrow… protruding from the gunman's thigh.

But Snake-Eyes didn't have more than a heartbeat to contemplate that oddity, because the third gunman was turning to fire at _him_. He had a moment to yank the barrel of his own M-16 over, depress the trigger in a quick, controlled burst—

_Click_. _Click. Click._

He had just enough time to watch his opponent's face contracting in triumph at that characteristic sound of an empty magazine, watching those fingers tightening on the trigger, heavy-lidded brown eyes staring exultantly right into his—

_Thwip-twang_.

This time, there was no 'thunk'—but Snake-Eyes saw it, when the grey-feathered wooden arrow caught the man right beside the windpipe—and pierced the rest of the way through his neck, bursting out the other side in a rush of black and blood.

It took an eternity for the man to collapse to the floor.

And, in the end, it took just a second, and the silence afterwards was only broken by the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears.

No pursuit. No other voices. No more gunfire. Most importantly, no footsteps coming down the hallway.

He only took a moment to ensure that the room was clear before he jumped over the counter, and ran to the aisle where he'd last seen Shana, tossing his sword into his right hand.

He found her on the opposite side of the aisle, half-hidden by a shelf. Her eyes were blank, shoulders heaving… and she was crouched with one knee to the ground, bracing an unloaded recurve crossbow against her shoulder.

Another grey-fletched arrow dangled from her fingers, and the quiver lay beside her, more arrows scattered by her knee. What in the name of—but when he took the barest glance at the shelf beside her, he realized what was on it. Bows, arrows. Blowpipes. Throwing knives, shuriken. She must have grabbed it.

She'd shot two men with it.

She hadn't been panic-stricken. She hadn't been frozen. Rather than getting out of the way, rather than saving herself… she'd crawled to the nearest rack and picked up a weapon.

_Shana, you idiot, I told you to RUN!_

Snake-Eyes reached out and grabbed her shoulder—rougher than he'd intended; he only realized it when she made a small pain-sound, and he realized, with a sick, awful, angry feeling in the pit of his stomach, that his fingers were hot with blood. That the arrow in her hand was streaked with it. He let her shoulder go as if her blood could burn him.

Shana felt that cool, calm sheath of confidence shatter from around her when Snake-Eyes' hand landed on her shoulder, and a shock of hot pain streaked down her arm. She hadn't seen him. Hadn't seen anything other than a man's chest, a man's face, crumpling into blood and bone. Couldn't see anything other than a man lying on the floor, the expression on his face still startled, his neck looking like a Halloween party trick.

Except it wasn't funny, and it wasn't a trick, and _she'd_ put that arrow through him. When her chin lowered, she saw the crossbow still in her hands, its golden wood and composite bits of bone and metal, elegant scrolling recurve tips. Felt its trigger, warm and smooth, under her fingers.

Carefully, carefully, she put it down. Flinched at the soft click it made when she lowered it to the linoleum. Her shoulder ached. All of her ached.

His heart was thumping so hard in his ears he wasn't sure he'd hear another attacker—Snake-Eyes took a long, long breath, and lowered himself to one knee in front of her. She looked at him—she wasn't seeing him. The look on her face was awful, blank, but her lower lip was trembling. He'd never been so angry at someone, or so terrified for someone's life, and there was nothing, absolutely _nothing_ he wanted more in the world than to shake her until her foolish teeth rattled, but…

…but.

He reached out and pulled Shana into his arms.

He felt her stiffen in shock, but just for an instant—then she buried her face against his shoulder. The sound that she made was soft, animal—more of a whimper than a sob. There were no tears in her eyes as she shook, and helplessly, he gathered her against him—this shaking was scarier than tears would have been.

Tentatively, Snake-Eyes raised a hand and stroked her hair—it had helped her settle down the first time, but… this was bigger than that. He would have whispered "shhh, easy, easy, it's okay," if he could have.

"I....I...." She couldn't quite form the words yet, and her voice sounded raspy and broken. She felt so strange. So strange, so empty, so… but it was like there was something in her, a scream, trying to claw its way out of her throat. "It happened so fast, Snake-Eyes...I...can't believe… did I really…?"

But she felt her voice trail away when he leaned his head down and rested his cheek on the top of her mussed, sweaty waves of hair, pulling her closer against him. He didn't have to speak for her to hear the "I know. I know—I'm sorry."

But the understanding, the careful warmth of his touch, the feel of him surrounding her… This time, the tears broke, and she sobbed—hard, noisy sobs that hurt on their way out and stole all her breath, until the only thing still keeping her from collapsing into a ball was his arms, tight, around her.

But crying left her feeling weak and hot-faced and… calmer. More… more like Shana, and less like that cold, precise woman who had looked at arrows and seen weapons.

Snake-Eyes heaved a deep breath—it was _hard, _hearing her cry like that, not being able to say anything, _do _anything. She was still trembling, but the awful, gasping sobs had stopped, and… he could feel her relaxing, raising her face from his shoulder. When he glanced down to take a look into those red-rimmed eyes, her tearstained face, she was looking up at him, her lips parting—

Carefully, he put a finger to her lips, as if to say, "You don't need to explain, and you don't need to say a word. Not unless you need to."

Tears had saturated her face, but she'd stopped shaking. Stopped feeling the fluttering in her chest, stopped tasting the sour tang of bile and panic in the back of her throat. And now that it was over, there was so much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to say, but… where were the words?

She hadn't asked to be caught in a firefight—she'd never killed anyone before. A few days ago, she'd been trying to be a normal young lady—no terrorists, no bombs, no mysterious men in black—whose biggest worry was that her daddy would find out she was dancing at a skin club. And now… now people were shooting at her, and she'd killed a man with a crossbow … and the mysterious man in black was holding her again.

But he was holding her tight, as if he needed the comfort almost as much as she did, and… she barely knew him, but this didn't feel wrong, or awkward, or uncomfortable at all. And yes, he looked strange, and yes, she knew that she was a duty for him, a chore… but right now, there wasn't anyone else in the world she _wanted_ to have holding her.

Snake-Eyes felt his mouth tighten, looking down at her. This was bad. She didn't know—she _couldn't _know—but he was just as shaken-up as she looked. Snake-Eyes knew this was a problem: he'd been through war. He'd been through terrorist attacks. This young woman's tears, her terror, the fact that she'd chosen to stay rather than run full speed out of a war zone, _shouldn't_ have shaken him this much.

But if she stayed around him, she'd most likely continue to see violence of the worst kind. Like this. Like the bodies lying in blood on the floor. He knew Shana would never be the same. He couldn't—he _couldn't_—let that knowledge get to him. He couldn't.

But he knew that it already was.

If anything like this happened again, would she make the same choice? Would he?

After a few more minutes, she felt her breathing settling back to normal. He was still holding her tight, but… but she thought, maybe, she could support herself again. She let go of him and felt his arms unwind from around her. Without his heat, his support… why was she so _tired?_ Scarlett backed against a wall, sliding down it ungracefully, stretching her legs out in front of her. It took her a moment to care enough to rearrange her twisted skirts.

Snake-Eyes stayed kneeling, for a long moment, watching her. She wondered what he could see in her eyes. A million questions, probably.

But then he rose to his feet with liquid grace, holding the crossbow and quiver of arrows in his hands… and held them out to her, in his characteristic silence.

She didn't want to touch them. But the calm, unfamiliar voice in her head whispered, _Guard him._ That voice knew they weren't finished yet, and it made her take them. Forced her back to her feet. Made her load another quarrel, pulling the lathe back with a smooth tug. And when he nodded his head at her in what looked like approval, Shana was surprised to find herself… flattered. Almost smiling.

Snake-Eyes took the moment to look at the faces of the three men. None of them were Zap. It looked like they'd reached a dead end here—if there had been anyone else, they were long gone. He turned back to her—found her still standing, still leaning against the wall—still guarding him. A strange feeling.

"Snake-Eyes?" Shana asked, quietly, looking down at the weapon in her hands. After a moment, she lowered it, and unloaded the bolt with a flick of her wrist.

He looked at her, awaiting her question.

"Take me out of here, please?"

Snake-Eyes nodded. He pulled out a pad of paper, writing something down. He handed her the note.

She read it, and… to his relief, she laughed, wiping her last tears away. "'At least it was a nice shot?' _Seriously_? Of all things you could have written, you chose _that?_ Boy, you sure know how to comfort a girl, don't you!"

Snake-Eyes shrugged, raising both hands. He wasn't exactly charming, and he knew it, but he was trying to be sincere. She laughed again, a quiet laugh, but with real humor. And it was free of the hysteria he'd been so afraid of.

She pushed herself off the wall and dusted herself off, looking down at the crossbow still in her hands, the quiver looped over her elbow. She'd loaded one before—even gone with her uncle to the target range, but… she hadn't expected accuracy. Hadn't expected to be _good. _But then, she'd never thought she'd need to be. "I'm ready, Snake. Let's go."

Snake-Eyes nodded. Before they left, he gestured her towards the door, pointing towards his eyes, then outwards. She nodded, and he saw her start surveying the street. He was going to have to do at least a cursory sweep of the place—one last check for anything that could potentially be useful.

Shana was rebounding amazingly well, or at least Snake-Eyes thought so. Her initial shock aside, she was acting as professional as anyone he'd worked with.

But the longer he took, the more he picked through the bits and pieces, reams of documents, the longer he had to think about the situation—and now that the adrenaline was wearing off… it took him a long moment to recognize that hot, sharp tang in the back of his throat as bright red _fury_. Yes, she'd been resourceful, and yes, the fact that she was an excellent shot had probably saved his life. Both their lives.

But she hadn't listened to his orders. And if he asked himself the question about whether or not she'd ignore his orders again, given the opportunity… he had the horrible feeling that he knew exactly what the answer to that was.

He _couldn't_ function in combat if he had to worry about her all the time. And the more he thought about it—the more he thought about her putting herself in harm's way, the more he thought about her picking up a stupid _crossbow_ rather than getting out of there like he told her, the more he thought about her blood, sticky, on the tips of his fingers, still dribbling weakly down her elbow…

If it had gone wrong. If it had all gone wrong…

He couldn't fight like this. He couldn't _focus_ like this... so uncharacteristic of him.

Unable to help himself, anger making a thick, clinging ball in his throat, Snake-Eyes wrote one last note: "The next time I tell you to run, you RUN, you stupid child!"

Then he turned on his heel and marched out of the pawnshop. They had already been here too long. It was time to leave before law enforcement responded to the gun shots.

Shana stared down at the note he'd shoved into her unoccupied hand—stunned by the callousness of it. Where… what? Where had this suddenly come from?! It was true, she hadn't run when he'd told her to, but… after it all, he'd held her so carefully. Stroked her hair. Hugged her while she cried. Handed her back the crossbow, and all-but told her to guard his back while he searched.

But now, there was genuine anger in the line of his shoulders, and she could see from the way he was moving—if she didn't run and catch up with him, he wasn't going to wait for her.

_How… how can he just do a one-eighty on me like that?!_

On any other day, she'd have snapped something at him. Yelled at him. Done _something_.

But for the first time in her life, Shana O'Hara felt too sick and hurt and confused to say anything at all.


	19. Chapter 19: On the Offensive

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: ON THE OFFENSIVE, AND READY TO STRIKE**

Snake-Eyes had changed.

Shana couldn't figure it out. They'd made it back to Robins Air Force Base—in the end, he'd waited for her after all, but he'd just been crouched over his motorcycle, and had barely waited for her to settle into a stable seat behind him before he'd taken off. But he'd walked away from her again the moment they'd gotten there, and hadn't acknowledged her presence on the C-130 that had picked them up. He'd ignored her when they'd landed, and hadn't so much as looked at her as they were driven to a classified location that, she'd been told, was known only as "The Pit".

For the first day, she'd been sick, and hurt. But sick and hurt only lasted so long. She'd done nothing—_nothing_—that merited being treated like a nonentity.

By the fifth day, Shana O'Hara was _furious_.

She'd bitten her tongue the entire time, stretching her patience further than she'd thought it was possible for it to stretch. With her anger at him boiling up inside her, she could only pray that it wouldn't pop like a cork. What did he possibly think she'd done to deserve this? Sure, she hadn't run out of the building like he'd demanded, but… in the end, it'd worked out, hadn't it? The bad guys hadn't gotten them—and maybe, just maybe, they were one step closer to exposing the organization. Weren't they?

She'd tried to talk to him. After the third try, she was thoroughly tired of him taking one look at her, and walking in the opposite direction.

Why was he being such a… a… a _brat?!_

Shana sat in the briefing room chair with her arms crossed and her right foot resting gently on her left knee. She was paying attention—Major General Hawk just wasn't the kind of man that a person didn't pay attention to—but it didn't mean she couldn't glare at Snake-Eyes across the room while she was doing it.

"Today, we have a civilian with us. This is Shana O'Hara—some of you may have already met her," Hawk reported, gesturing to the young redhead towards the back of the room. He continued, "This marks the first time we've allowed a civilian into this briefing room, but it has been deemed necessary. As many of you know, she's already very involved in this entire mess, and has more reason than any of us to want to take down this ghost organization. Welcome, Miss O'Hara."

She raised her head and nodded, politely, waving one hand.

"Now, I'm sure you've all heard about Zap. He is highly suspected of committing treason against the United States of America, and suspected of having affiliations with this terrorist organization. Currently, he's vanished off our radar."

"But there is some good news, which involves our next mission. The financial documents that Snake-Eyes and Miss O'Hara recovered," he nodded once again in Shana's direction, and this time, added a slight gentleman's bow, "were compiled by Miss O'Hara's mother. Some of the accounts were still active, and the cash flow seems to indicate that the bomb was assembled in Arlington Heights, and that it has recently been smuggled into Chicago. We will maintain our teams in Dallas and Boston, but people, this is it."

"Stalker, you're mission leader on this op. Our original Atlanta team of Stalker, Snake-Eyes, Tunnel Rat, Spirit, Roadblock, and Air-Tight will be heading to Chicago. This will be Alpha Team.

"Miss O'Hara, we would like you to accompany the team to Chicago, but you're going to be sitting kitty-corner to Breaker and Firewall, out of harm's way. They're going to be busy tapping lines and jamming enemy radar and signals, and you can help us by keeping the communication lines open between the teams and HQ. I know you're not trained in electronic counterwarfare, but we're stretched too thin to take a combatant off the field for this." Hawk looked at her with level, hard blue eyes. "Ultimately, it's up to you, but you'd better make your choice fast. Takeoff is in thirty minutes.

"Everyone, you will be given orders on the plane. Gear up. Dismissed."

As everyone rose to their feet, Snake-Eyes immediately started to sign something to Stalker with rapid hand motions. Stalker threw up his arms and sighed, "Sorry, not my call, Snake. Hawk left it up to _her_ to decide."

Having stood up with everyone else, Shana approached Snake-Eyes and Stalker. "Stalker, what did he say? Snake-Eyes, look, if I can help the team in any way, then I'm going."

Snake-Eyes shook his head, and signed at her—he knew she understood this one: *No.*

What he meant to say was, "No, it's too dangerous—you don't need to do this; the risk isn't worth it."

What he meant to say was "Be _safe_, Shana."

But all he signed was "No," and that was all it took.

That was it. That… was _it_. Shana felt the past few days, the tension, the anger, the attraction, boil up into a bubbling mass and spill out. Before she could think about the wisdom of her actions, she'd jabbed a finger into his chest. That… hurt. It made her angrier. The next time she touched him, it was with two fingers on his chest, and she _pushed. Very forcefully. _ "Where do you think you get off, telling me what and what not to do?!" she shouted. "I didn't follow your orders because, one, I'm not on _your_ team, and two, I was _not_ about to run away and leave you to die! You big jerk, what is the _matter_ with you?!"

She pushed him hard enough in the chest to force him a step back.

_Oh, Hell. _Stalker felt his teeth clench as the room got very, very quiet. Everyone froze, watching the scene, but no one made a sound. _Oh, bloody HELL. _No one ever talked to Snake-Eyes that way, and Snake was one of his oldest friends, but… he was pretty sure just about everyone would agree that anyone who _did_ talk to him that way—let alone poke his chest!—was in for a painful ride.

He wasn't sure whether to admire her—holy crap, she'd actually _shoved_ him!—or question her sanity.

But he watched Snake regaining his balance—saw his friend's chin jerk up underneath the mask. Watched anger tense through shoulders, biceps. But instead of retaliating, or arguing, or passing over a note, Snake simply turned and walked away. Stalker kept his mouth shut, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Until he turned around. Oh. Great. Wonderful. Now the young redhead—man, she'd been so sweet to everyone the past few days, where was this coming from?!—looked like she wanted to chew up nails and spit out .45-caliber ammo. Whatever was going on with them, he would have put solid money on her _wanting _a fight—at least to get to the bottom of the issue. Whatever the issue was.

But when Shana looked up at _him_, Stalker found his eyes widening—there was hurt in those big green eyes as much as anger… and there was determination there, too, and drive, and an unexpected ferocity.

Suddenly, he could understand just how this little Southern chickadee had more martial arts trophies than his son had Transformers.

_Oh, Hell, Snake. You might know a lot about weapons… but I don't think you have any idea what happens when a woman's this pissed at you._

And when she said... after looking towards the exit that Snake had just taken, in a clear, cold voice that resonated right off the walls of the briefing room, "Stalker, please tell Hawk that _I'm going_ with the team," Stalker just sighed and shook his head.

----

_Hawk just doesn't get it. These terrorists aren't just dangerous, they're __smart__. We've been after them for years and years and don't even know the name of their organization – isn't that proof enough? Yes, Firewall and Breaker won't be in the war zone, but they'll still be on the field. What happens if our communications or jams get traced back to them? Which means that Shana will also be in harm's way. Bad, bad call._

Snake-Eyes was used to the familiar way the C-130 rattled and shook underneath them, but he normally didn't miss too much else. But his thoughts were running in circles, and he almost jumped when Stalker slapped his knee with a sheaf of orders. "You ready for this buddy? The operation is a lot like last time. Me, you, Roadblock, Spirit will be the infantry. Tunnel-Rat will be our scout and traps expert. Air-Tight will sniff out the NBCs. Either of those two are capable of dismantling the bomb, but we'd like both of them to survive to do it together."

Nodding, Snake-Eyes broke the seal on the thick binder in his lap. He'd never been so grateful for orders before—maybe it'd keep his mind off Shana. Off the way she'd looked at him in the briefing room. _Why is my mind __on__ her so much? _Snake couldn't recall another time when he'd been so distracted. _Pull it together, Snake,_ he told himself. _This is not the time to think about her. It's time to focus. Time to clear my mind, time to breathe. I am the sum of my mind and my __chi__, not my emotions. It shouldn't be this difficult._

After taking a deep breath, he reengaged his orders, flipping through the complicated mix of blueprints, documents, pictures. Stalker was right; in the planning stages, this looked very similar to the last time. The brass had vetoed strikes on the generator or power grid, since it could spook the bad guys and force them to detonate the bomb early. Fair enough. Snake and Spirit would be the lead, authorized to take out anyone armed that they encountered in the building. No civilians this time.

_Good,_ Snake-Eyes thought to himself. _It's much easier to work this way._

The irony of it stuck in his throat.

Stalker and Roadblock would be the clean-up part of the infantry, and would use the big guns if they had to. _Let's hope it doesn't get to that._ And the last place they wanted Tunnel Rat and Air-Tight was in the middle of a firefight—keeping them safe and out of the way until they hit their objective was going to be important.

Firewall and Breaker would hack into the cameras across the street. In addition, Tunnel Rat and Air-Tight were both carrying minicams with projection feeds to the communication center. They were even confident that they would be able to hack into the cameras once the infantry team entered the building. And Shana… Snake-Eyes tried not to grit his teeth as he read the paragraph about her.

She'd apparently gotten a community college degree in communications by the time she was sixteen. Hell. Her voice rang in his ears: _"I don't know how good you are with computers, but…_" and the remembrance of her smile—the lovely, happy smile he hadn't seen in days—seared against the back of his eyelids. _"I bet I'm better."_

She was backing them up in communications, but apparently, the Hawk had gotten wind of just how keen her powers of observation were, too. With that, and the fact that her stake with the organization went deeper than anyone else's, he could almost—_almost—_see Major General Hawk's rationale for wanting her along.

So it appeared that the building they were going to break into was an old, abandoned warehouse, about fifty feet tall. Based on the satellite photos in Snake-Eyes packet, it was far from abandoned. Brand new cameras perched on corners, heat signatures of individuals radiated inside the building, and one room in particular seemed to have lead walls. Intelligence had drawn the obvious conclusion that that must have been where they were hiding the bomb—lead didn't just keep spying equipment out, it kept nuclear particles _in_.

There would also be a back-up team would be in place, just like last time: Bravo Team. Already in Chicago, Bravo Team's roster was short, but versatile: Wild Bill. Low-Light. Heavy Duty. Shipwreck. If everything went south, Wild Bill could helo his team to a roof across the street from the target building, just outside of camera range. Snake-Eyes' eyebrows rose as he looked over the list of armament they'd be carrying: yes, they were definitely the team of last resort.

The entry and exit routes had already been selected by the unit's leaders, and Snake-Eyes agreed that the paths they'd chosen made the most sense. The plan, as far as plans went, was good.

_Now let's forget that old saying about best-laid plans…_

Shana sat on the other side of the C-130, away from Snake. She'd chosen the seat furthest from him entirely on purpose, but… the moment she sat down, glancing briefly at him across the rattling plane, she felt a little ill. _What are you doing, O'Hara? What point exactly are you trying to prove? You're being childish. And yes, he is too, but…_

More than once, she bent her knees and leaned forward, getting ready to stand, walk over there, and swallow her pride and maybe, if necessary, her spleen. How hard could making up with him be? But each time—once, twice, thrice—she felt pride stiffening her spine. She _wasn't _in the wrong. The way he'd been treating her had been rude and uncalled-for.

But… he hadn't always been that way. And she hadn't had the chance to thank him: she understood all-too-well what he'd been doing, when he'd tried to get her out of the pawnshop. He'd been putting her welfare before his.

How could she really be so angry at someone who did that without a second thought?

_Shana. You are being a moron. Go. Go, and sit with him. _

She looked down at the crossbow in her lap—this one was recurve, too, but smaller, and metal, plastic. It looked like a weapon, not an antique, but it felt as light as a toy in her hands. She'd spent a good part of the past few days with it at the target range.

Shana had turned, more than once, thinking that she'd felt a presence there with her—only to find nothing.

_The worst he can do is ignore you._

But just as Shana finally unbuckled her harness and pushed herself to her feet… she watched the empty seat next to Snake-Eyes being filled. Firewall—lithe and pretty, dark hair chopped into a neat little bob. The youngest of the team, Shana thought—friendly, cheerfully nerdy, with a beautiful smile. She looked small in the big bucket seat, facing Snake-Eyes, her face turned downwards, lips moving…

Then Shana blinked as Snake-Eyes reached out and lifted Firewall's chin with the tips of his fingers. He shook his head, slowly. Then he raised his gloved hand and gently stroked her dark hair before his hands started moving again in careful, deliberate sign.

Careful, deliberate, but it was still a foreign language. And when Firewall twisted in her seat and turned to throw her arms around his neck, Shana felt her hands clamp into fists.

_Wha—why, you little…!_

But… for all her anger, she knew that there was only one person to blame for this: herself.

_Maybe they're… an item. _She'd never asked him about relationships. Well, how in the world would that have come up in conversation? _Do I know that they're not? I don't—she's practically my age, too, but... I don't know how old he is, do I? How did someone so young get into an organization like this? What does she do? How long have they known each other? _And then, a thought like the ache that was still in her shoulder, hot and dark, vivid with jealousy— _Is she the reason he keeps pushing me away?_

Shana didn't think he deserved her forgiveness, but… what if she _had _gotten up the first time and moved over to sit next to him? What if she'd taken the time to take a breath and get him to talk? She still didn't understand how he could have been so sweet, so much fun to be around, for a few short days, and then… nothing. Emptiness. This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out. Especially not before being involved in an actual mission.

Firewall had stood up, leaving the chair beside Snake-Eyes empty again, but… Shana watched as the girl patted Snake's shoulder with one slender hand. And she thought, maybe, maybe, he was actually smiling at Firewall underneath his mask.

She could go over there and yell at him. She could walk up and give him a big kiss on his lips. She could sit here and sulk and pout. Tempting options. Really, really tempting. That first one was looking _really_ good.

Shana leaned her head back against the chair, and closed her eyes.

Or she could sit here and try really, really hard to pretend that her eyes weren't stinging.


	20. Chapter 20: Operations and Regrets

**CHAPTER TWENTY: OPERATIONS AND REGRETS**

Stalker's team had just arrived on the roof of a nondescript, old Chicago warehouse. Wild Bill's team were already waiting when they landed. "Good to see y'all, pardner," Wild Bill drawled, shaking Stalker's hand wildly, as the other members of each team greeted one another. "Welcome to the battle zone. We just checked our comms with Breaker and Firewall and they're a-go. What's this I hear about them havin' some company? That little redhead y'all rescued the last time?"

Snake-Eyes hadn't been planning to say anything, but Stalker was looking right at him, rather than answering the question. He nodded, just to be polite, but… he really didn't want to talk about her, not right before a mission.

Stalker frowned. Obviously there was something about little Shana that was distracting Snake—he couldn't say what they'd been through together, but obviously, if that scene in the briefing room had been any indication, they were under each others' skins _somehow. _He'd never seen Snake just walk off like that, and having the commando's mind clouded over was the _last _thing they needed right about now. This was not the time for playing little delicate relationship-games… or whatever. To be successful and accomplish their goals, Stalker reasoned, they would need everything to fall into place perfectly… and Snake was always a big part of that puzzle piece.

Stalker took over after Snake's brief nod and just a second of uncomfortable silence, once he realized that Snake really wasn't going to say anything else. "General Hawk thought she might be useful, since she's the only one that's been so close to these operatives. She was young at the time, but the girl's got good eyes on her. Not to mention we're stretched out so thin, and she's supposed to be good with computers; it couldn't hurt having another person with Breaker and Firewall. It's one of those 'better safe than sorry' deals."

Wild Bill nodded. Meanwhile, the rest of the team were reacquainting themselves with each other, shaking hands and asking how the others had been. It was a surreal moment. For some of them, they hadn't seen each other in a few years. Worse still, their job was so dangerous that they were always aware that this time could be the very last time they'd see each other… ever. That was just the way their unit worked—always away on missions, never home. Lives always on the line.

Wild Bill grinned. Lifeline always rolled his eyes, whenever he heard that particular phrase.

"On your call, Stalker. Let us know when you're ready and we'll set up. We're here for you, pardner," Wild Bill said. "Just holler when ya need us."

"We will. Thanks, as always, bro. Gentlemen, ready?" Stalker said addressing his team, who each quickly responded with a thumbs-up. "Okay. Let's do this."

----

Low-Light moved to the edge of the roof, taking up position with his sniper rifle. After scanning for a while through his scope, he quietly muttered to Heavy Duty, "All clear."

Heavy Duty edged up next to Low-Light, wedging up a large crossbow with a harpoon-type device attached to it. A steel cable trailed on the roof behind the harpoon.

_I wonder what Shana would think of that crossbow,_ Snake-Eyes thought. He felt his lips curving in a smile, almost picturing in his head what she would look like holding that enormous crossbow. She didn't exactly have arms like Heavy Duty (most people didn't, of course) but he had a feeling that she could probably outshoot him. Well, if she could prop it up, anyway. _She'd probably be jealous. _

"Yo, Snake!" he blinked, absently, and cocked his head as Heavy Duty turned and grinned at him. The big man's voice was a low, cheerful rumble. "Word is Shana likes bows, right? You think if you show her this beauty, she'll stop being mad at you?"

Shipwreck gaped. "You for real, HD? Snake's got a girl?!" Holding out his hand to Snake-Eyes, Shipwreck enthusiastically said, "Gimme five, mate!"

He held up a hand. Snake-Eyes blinked at it—and him—very, very slowly.

"No. And _no,"_ Stalker growled, firmly, before he could answer for himself. "'Wreck—guard the perimeter. HD—nuclear bomb first, crossbow envy _later_."

They all chuckled, a little—welcome relief from the sharp edge of tension and the sharper sting of understanding what was at risk.

But Snake-Eyes didn't miss the fact that Stalker shot him a knowing, sympathetic look out of the corner of his dark eyes.

He sighed to himself, and looked down at his hands as the rest of the team turned away. _I know I've been too hard on her. _Yes, she should have run and kept herself safe, but… frankly, she'd been amazing with the crossbow that she'd picked up in the pawn shop. And he'd seen her at the range with the military-issue fiberglass and titanium model that someone had gotten for her: it hadn't just been a fluke. _But as long as she's out here, she's not safe. No-one is, around these people._

Heavy Duty fired the line. It pierced the wall just above the fourth story window. Meanwhile, Stalker and his five teammates prepared to slide down the line. Snake-Eyes was in the lead, followed closely by Spirit Iron-Knife. Spirit was one of the few that Snake-Eyes trusted behind him—he was one of the few that could move like a ninja, silently, as if he were one with the night. It was a skill that very few could perform, let alone perfect. He'd never asked Spirit where he'd learned the ability.

The window opened up into a small empty, dusty room that looked like it hadn't been used in ages. Cobwebs climbed every corner and a thick, matted coating of dust covered the abandoned furniture. Snake-Eyes entered inside, silent but for breath, sword in hand. Spirit arrived behind him. The room was secure; Spirit sent the signal for the other four to follow.

Every one of the remaining team members slid down the cable and into the room without incident, gliding from one building and to the next, four dark shadows streaming across the line in the calm of the night. The six-man stealth team were safely positioned inside the warehouse.

"Well, so far so good, ladies," Breaker said, watching the entire operation on camera along with the two young women. Shana was practically holding her breath, trying to remain calm. But she wondered if her heart was going loudly enough for the other two to hear it.

_It'd better be,_ she thought, regarding Breakers comment. _I don't want the last thing I ever said to Snake-Eyes to be "You big jerk"._ Even reliving that moment in her head made her feel sick with embarrassment—why had she lost her temper in front of the whole team?! _Snake-Eyes, you'd better make it out of this. I have faith in you. _

Switching to interphone so he could talk to the team, Breaker came across the radio. "Tunnel Rat, you see a good place to patch into the system's cameras?"

Tunnel Rat replied, "Yeah, looks like an old cord in the ceiling, right where you told me it would be. Bear with me; I blow things up, I don't go pokeying around with computers the way you guys do. This stuff is a little different."

"No problem, Rat. Take your time, you'll do fine. Just do it like I showed you," Breaker replied. They'd gone over this—all he could do was encourage Nicky to do it right. It was one of the most frustrating parts of his job, being support.

"Okay... there. Think I got it. How's your visual?"

After a brief delay, Breaker grinned, and replied, "Yes! Nice work—we got it. Cameras are up in the building. Looks like we have only a third of the cameras we wanted… I was afraid of that. They must have three or four separate servers, so if one fails, the others don't go down for the count. But we can still work with this."

Tunnel Rat gave the thumbs-up to Stalker, and Stalker nodded to Air-Tight, as if to say "Your turn."

"You got it, Stalker." Taking a knee, Air-Tight pulled a small, handheld radiation detector out of his backpack, and turned it on, giving his device a few moments to do its work. The flashing, dim green lights slowly—one by one—turned red.

Quietly, Air-Tight sighed and nodded. "Yep, it's what I thought. Residual nuclear radiation floating around… can practically taste it. Give me a few more seconds..."

The other five groaned softly, shaking their heads at the realization that they were in fact in a building with a live nuclear weapon; there was now no chance that the building would be empty. Intel was accurate... much to their chagrin.

"Can you pinpoint it, Kurt?" Stalker asked.

Air-Tight's brows furrowed under the camera on his forehead as he looked down at the detector. His eyes narrowed as he studied the small screen above the flashing lights. "Yeah… yeah, I think so. Hmmm."

Stalker studied his face. "You don't look happy about it. Uncle Sam's probably shelled out big bucks for that gizmo, it should have the best range and accuracy of anything around."

Air-Tight met his mission leader's eyes. "Yeah, and yeah. But… that shouldn't matter. Because if they've got it properly sealed off, the way it should be, it doesn't matter how good the scanner is—I _shouldn't _be able to pinpoint it."

Roadblock's voice was sharper than its normal jovial boom. "So… what're you sayin'?"

"I'm saying," Air-Tight met their eyes, "that the device is on the far side of this building. Maybe about this floor level, maybe one up. It's hard to tell exactly, but… yeah. It's hard to get a really accurate trace, so it's probably in a lead liner."

Tunnel Rat held up a hand. "Hold up, hold up. What were you saying about… 'properly sealed off?' English, AT, English. You saying you'd be getting a better signal if it _wasn't_ wrapped in lead? Like… feet and inches, better?"

Air-Tight cracked a tight smile. "I'm saying we'd all be glowing in the dark if it wasn't wrapped in lead. Which it is. But I'm also saying that their lead liner's looking like it was made in China, if you get my meaning."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"Okay. So maybe we'll all wake up with extra toes tomorrow. Bottom line is, the nuke's here," Stalker said to the team. "Keep your eyes peeled, gentlemen." He turned to Snake, Roadblock, and Spirit, and reiterated, "...and keep Tunnel Rat and Air-Tight safe, above all costs. For the moment their lives are worth more than the four of ours combined. Like it or not."

Stalker signaled for the team to move out.

"Hallway is clear," Breaker told them. Snake-Eyes and Spirit opened the door quietly, carefully moving down the hall.

At the end of the hallway was a closed industrial-sized door. Intelligence had said that this could be a briefing room—which, naturally, had multiple people in it when it was in use. But they didn't have a choice: it was the only way to their target. Listening to the door, Snake-Eyes heard some noise, but couldn't tell what specifically. He just knew it was time to get ready because anything -- or anyone -- could be on the other side of the door.

"No traps or explosives on the door," Tunnel Rat whispered to Snake-Eyes.

Snake inspected the door carefully, himself; people had been wrong before. It was how Short-Fuze had gotten killed, and he hated relying on others when all of their lives were on the line. He was still listening, intently, when he quietly opened the door.

Inside, Snake-Eyes heard a few voices talking -- perhaps two… no, three people. Snake tapped his ear and held out three fingers, glancing behind him. They'd all been together long enough to know what he meant by that. Snake silently entered the room, low to the floor. Spirit followed, quietly drawing two identical knives… one from each hip sheath.

Stalker was next in line, his hands gripping his gun, finger loosely balanced on the trigger.

Shana, viewing the scene through Air-Tight's camera, tried to keep from hyperventilating. She'd never understood exactly what fun people found in scary movies, and this was worse—it was _real. _Those were _her _people out there. Snake-Eyes and Spirit had just walked, by themselves, into a room where there was most likely enemy activity—she'd seen Snake's small gesture. For all she knew, they could have walked into an ambush.

The level of noise had picked up in the next room where Snake and Spirit were. Stalker knew those two had engaged in hand to hand combat inside the room, and the fact that no shots were fired seemed to indicate that they had won... they took the enemy out without a shot being fired – from either side. It was eerie, hearing those thumps, then gurgling, then nothing. Stalker and Roadblock followed their teammates into the room, weapons drawn.

Just as Stalker predicted, they didn't need their weapons. Snake and Spirit were standing over three dead bodies, all of which were wearing blue uniforms and black masks. One was still clutching his automatic weapon. Judging by the blood dripping from Snake-Eyes' carbon-steel sword and Spirit's twin knives, the bodies were fresh. Stalker nodded a "good work," and signaled for them to check the room and get ready to move on.

Roadblock whispered to the Air-Tight and Tunnel Rat, "Look at their uniforms. Guys, we're really on to something. Check out that red symbol on their gear. I bet a week of brownies we're in the heart of their operation. Either that, or something big and bad is about to go down. We better find this bomb, and quick."

They both nodded in agreement.

Shana felt her stomach twist at the site of the bodies crumpled on the floor, the pools of blood underneath them black and glistening across the corners of the screen. The fact that she was watching it from a remote location didn't make it any better, and she wondered if it made it worse. She hadn't seen them die, but the fact that the blood was still spreading made it all horribly, horribly real. Bile rose sour to the back of her throat, and she had to remind herself that those men had been real bad guys—breaking into her house was one thing, but they were part of an organization willing to use a nuclear bomb against millions of civilians.

But Snake-Eyes and Spirit were fine. Alive, and well, and… unharmed. She smiled, a little, as Snake flicked his sword sideways before returning it to the sheath at his back—it was such an old-fashioned gesture. _He_ was fine. _He doesn't always make it through with the jackpot, but he makes it through._

How long could that last, though? She'd asked Stalker, curiously, about where Snake had gotten his name, but all he'd said was, "You'll have to ask him." It made her throat feel too tight when she thought about the only meaning of 'snake-eyes' that she knew of: a roll of the dice. Two ones. Unlucky. Losing everything. She didn't pretend to know what he'd lost, but he couldn't have lost everything, could he? After all, he was still alive.

But with all the danger he kept throwing himself into, how long could that last?

Shana felt a trickle of cold sweat run down the back of her neck. She couldn't watch anymore. Didn't want to watch anymore. But… this was part of what she had to do, too, and her eyes stayed open.

The six-man team made it up to the fifth floor, which was more of a wide-open area than the fourth floor was, although it looked like extra boxes and cargo were stored up here, making up a labyrinth of sorts. The lead-lined room was just across the obstacle course. "That's the room," Air-Tight told the group silently, nodding towards the lead-lined room, putting away his radiation detector for the moment and instead pulling out a hand gun.

Snake-Eyes and Spirit took point again, but there were too many things to skirt around: other four would have to follow at a safe but respectable distance. Their eyes, their ears, told them that there was nothing there but them, and maybe a rat or two. But they could all feel the way their hearts were rattling in their rib cages, the way their breathing came faster—anticipation, unease—jerking muscles, spiking adrenaline. They were used to it, used to the reality of combat, but that didn't make it feel any better.

It was worse for Shana. It was like watching a twisted game of paintball—except if they got hit, it wouldn't be paint. If they got hit, they wouldn't survive. There would be no sitting up and rubbing the bruise and laughing "Oh, I'm dead." There would be no laughing. _No. No, please, no._ She kept trying to steal glances of Snake-Eyes through Tunnel Rat's and Air-Tight's cameras. But every time she looked at him, her stomach seemed to clench up even further, and this time, she did have to swallow to keep from throwing up. It wasn't just about Snake, it was all of them. She'd never forgotten what the body of Snake-Eyes' friend had looked like—too limp, twisted, only human because of its shape. Sometimes she still woke up screaming to the image of that blackened form opening its eyes and looking at her.

She forced her attention back to the screen, scanning past the familiar silhouettes of the team. But… what was that? That didn't look like a box. Shana frowned and brought her nose closer to the screen. Just on the top right screen of Tunnel Rat's camera was… it was hard to tell, the colors were blurred and darkened in the monitor, but there was a hint of… blue? How strange, all the rest of the boxes were either olive drab or grey.

And then the hint of blue moved, and she saw the flicker of light off a beautifully well-oiled automatic weapon.

The chill that shot down her spine was nothing short of paralyzing. It was much to Shana's own surprise that she pointed at the screen and heard herself scream "_Breaker!_"

Firewall's head jerked around to look at her—but Breaker's head jerked around to stare at the screen, and before Shana could force herself to blink, he'd slammed his palm down on the intercom button and snapped out, "Tunnel Rat's ten o'clock; armed enemy on top of the cargo box!"

She watched, frozen, as all six men whirled—now that the view was centered in Tunnel Rat's camera, she could see with a sickening jolt that there was a man in a familiar blue uniform, clambering to his feet with that huge, gleaming gun in her hands—

Then the man was looking down at where one of Spirit's knives was still trembling with its own force, the blade buried to the hilt in his chest. From there, he fell very, very quickly, and the 'thud' that his body made when it hit the ground sounded surprisingly soft.

Suddenly, Shana could breathe again, and she heaved in a gasp of air.

She still jumped when a hand grasped her shoulder, and when she looked up, Firewall's eyes were wide, and bright. "Man! Wow. Good eyes, Shana. You just saved our boys out there!" She raised a hand. "I don't care what Snake-Eyes thought—me, _I'm_ glad you're on our side, Red."

It took a long moment before Shana realized that Firewall was offering a high-five.

Carefully, she reached up, surprised to find that her hand was steady when she clapped palms with the other girl. Yes, she did like Firewall; she was bright, and funny. She'd liked her perfectly fine before she'd seen the girl sit down beside Snake-Eyes, and all of that feeling sour towards her, well…

Shana knew better than most people realized that with her stubbornness, and her temper, she could sometimes be… well… difficult.

Shana's smile up at Firewall was shaky, but real. She didn't feel like she'd done anything, but maybe she had kept some of _their boys_ from being hurt. Or killed.

It felt good. Very, very good.

Soon after that, the team heard several people coming towards them at a quick march. "They must have heard his body fall. Take cover; do what you can," Stalker ordered the group.

Snake-Eyes, at point, moved forward, crouching in the small, shadowed space between two crooked cargo boxes. Spirit found a hole he could slide though and easily pop out of if he needed to. The other four moved back and hid behind some of the crates.

Two men moved past Snake-Eyes, oblivious to his location. He could hear at least four more coming up behind them.

"You know," one of the guardsmen muttered, "if anyone finds out one of our guys was drinking on top of the cargo containers on watch again—this is the second time someone's fallen off." He reached down to shake the downed guardsman. "Man, you've gotta get your act together—wait." He paused. His voice was soft. "Wait. There's a knife in his... "

Snake-Eyes' knife had slit his throat before the guard could finish the sentence. His sword glided, easily, neatly, in between ribs; the second terrorist could barely blink before he was sliding off Snake-Eyes blade, his mouth moving blankly, eyes glazing.

Then Snake was gone again, back to his cover, his hiding place. All of the four guards still alive had seen him. None had been able to move quickly enough to take a shot.

"Get Melendez!" one of them shouted. Three of them charged up to Snake-Eyes' corner.

Shana couldn't watch; there was nowhere for him to go. They'd be on Snake-Eyes in a second.

Before they got there, however, Stalker put a round in the chest of one. Roadblock blasted through another one. The last one tried to twist and duck away from the path of the bullets, but Spirit threw his remaining knife into the man's shoulder. He tumbled to the ground, screaming, his arm limp at his side.

The fourth and last assailant turned to run, shouting, noise and bluster and alarm. Snake-Eyes stepped out from behind the boxes and gave chase—but it was Air-Tight who, pulling out his 9-mil, put a round cleanly between the last guardsman's shoulder blades.

But another shot rang out. Snake-Eyes instantly dove for cover; it'd been a higher-power weapon, and the report of that shot had echoed through the warehouse. They had to find the shooter before…

Curling around his abdomen, Air-Tight crumpled to his knees.

Watching the video through Air-Tight's camera, Shana was too stunned to scream, and Breaker and Firewall blanched as they saw the view in the camera change—tumbling down, down, down. They had to watch, helpless, as Zap stepped out from behind a cargo box. They watched as Zap raised his rifle. Saw the flash of the muzzle.

Saw the view through the camera shifting, shifting, to a view of the ceiling as Air-Tight collapsed onto his back.

And as quickly as Zap had stepped out to fire, he ducked back behind the boxes. Snake-Eyes' hurled knife pierced the air where he'd been standing moments before, and clattered loudly against the cargo box.

Snake grabbed Air-Tight, dragging him behind a crate. _No. No_—but even as he clamped a hand down on the wound on Air-Tight's chest, he felt blood spilling through his fingers in thick gushing bursts. Air-Tight stared upwards at the ceiling, eyes wild with terror—blood was trickling from his mouth as he tried to breathe harder, harder, gasping for air in short, choking bursts that bubbled horribly. His eyes met Snake's, and the shock and lack of understanding there was almost harder to bear than the wound. He clawed at Snake's webbing with weak fingers.

_Don't—_Snake-Eyes thought, sick. _Don't… _Not Air-Tight. Not the odd, silly man who loved practical jokes—who could be telling horribly inappropriate college stories one moment, and happily rattling off the effects of the world's deadliest viruses with the next.

But after a moment, Air-Tight simply stopped breathing. His jaw relaxed, and his eyes were bright and glassy and focused on nothing.

Shana closed her eyes—the view through Air-Tight's camera had stopped shuddering and rocking. All they could see was Snake-Eyes' black uniform, every muscle stone-hard, his chest heaving with what she could only imagine was rage. He'd have screamed if he could have, she knew. She could see it in the line of his body: this was the second friend that Zap had taken from him.

When she opened her eyes again, all she could see through Air-Tight's camera was the ceiling. Snake-Eyes was gone.

Flipping quickly through the surveillance cameras, Breaker spotted Zap, dashing through the maze of boxes with his face grim, teeth bared. He turned on the intercom again. "Guys… Air-Tight is down, and Zap's on the run. I think he's going for the roof."


	21. Chapter 21: Mission Execution, Pt I

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: MISSION EXECUTION, PT I**

Wild Bill, on the same frequency as the alpha team, immediately started up his chopper upon hearing that Zap was making a break for the roof. The power came on with the high-pitched whir of electronics. The blades started turning, producing a steadily increasing whine.

Low-Light maintained his sniping position for as long as he could, standing guard while Heavy Duty and Shipwreck ran to the chopper. Air-Tight was down—without more information, they didn't know what that meant. He could be injured, or he could be dead, but right now, they needed adrenaline and they needed to be ready for action more than they needed to grieve.

"I've got one on the roof… no, wait, make that two!" Low-Light's scope picked up a couple of the blue-uniformed guards on the roof. "No Zap, yet."

Suddenly, part of the roof started to creak open. Not the entire roof, just a small portion of it -- about a twenty-by-twenty-foot section.

----

"Spirit, follow Snake-Eyes. Roadblock, Tunnel Rat, with me. We need to get in the room and find the bomb. Air-Tight… Air-Tight's beyond our help," Stalker shouted. While Spirit chased after Snake-Eyes and Zap, the remaining three moved on, weapons up, to the lead-lined room. Surprisingly, they found the door to the room already open.

----

Snake-Eyes was, Spirit knew from long experience, not the easiest man to catch up with when he was on the hunt. Snake was determined, observant, and _fast_—Spirit had often thought that, had Snake desired it, he would have been a credit indeed to the teachings of his own people.

That he could catch up with Snake before Snake had caught up with Zap did not bode well for their hunt—especially since Zap was nowhere to be seen. He exchanged a glance with Snake-Eyes as he jogged up beside the commando—there was grief in the line of Snake's shoulders, and frustration.

_Ah, my friend. _

Spirit had seen Air-Tight's body. Understood that Snake had held him through those last moments. Understood, too, that the one who had killed him likely had superior knowledge of this facility's layout, and undoubtedly was as physically fit as any of them were. After all… he had been one of them, once.

But he knew, too, without vanity, that if Zap were to be found… they would be the ones who could do it.

"Low-Light, staying or going?" Shipwreck shouted, holding on to the side of the helicopter. Heavy Duty was already inside, the nose of his Gatling gun twisting as he armed it.

After a moment's thought, Low-Light muttered, "Staying. Get some for me. I'll keep an eye out for Zap, and snipe him from here if I have to."

Shipwreck chuckled, and shook his head, flashing a thumbs-up in Low-Light's direction. "Better you than me, buddy!"

In return, Low-Light gave him a level look over his scope—and flashed him the finger.

Shipwreck barked out another laugh, and shouted "We're good!" to Wild Bill over the noise of the main rotor. The sailor held on tight as the helicopter's rotors whirred and they slowly started to rise off the roof.

Heavy Duty looked at him over the Gatling. "Low-Light stayin' behind _again_? One day, we're just gonna forget about him an' leave him behind!"

Shipwreck leaned over and shook his head. Heavy Duty liked to act tough, but he was pretty sure the big man wouldn't leave anyone behind any more than he'd leave his headbehind. "Yeah. They could not payme enough to do his job."

Heavy Duty laughed. "Tell me about it, man—sitting there waiting for the action to pop up and never knowing that it will? No _thanks! _If the fight's gonna come to me, I'm gonna go get it first!"

Shipwreck grinned in agreement. "Yeah, well, Stalker and the boys better get done what they need to, or else it ain't gonna be a _fight_ coming for us, you get me?"

Heavy Duty laughed, and patted his Gatling. "Just let 'em do what they do… me and my baby, here, we'll take care of the rest!"

----

"Oh, shit!" Stalker muttered.

They'd just discovered why the door was already open.

There, in the middle of an otherwise plain and featureless room, was the nuclear warhead. Someone—_most likely Zap, the bastard, _Stalker mused—had set it off for detonation. The blinking red numbers read 18:32, and counting down in quick, inevitable ticks. Tunnel Rat's smile flashed in the white fluorescent lights; he clasped his hands together and flexed them, palm outwards, in a long, luxuriant stretch. "Showtime, kids!"

Nicky wondered how many of them were buying the tough-guy act—wondered how many of them had any idea just how fast was heart was going. _Well, the good news is, if this baby goes off I won't feel a darn thing, _he thought.

----

Spirit was the best tracker that the team had—better even than Snake-Eyes. But despite their skills and the pace at which they were moving, Zap's trail eluded them. Soon, they realized that the footprints that they were seeing in the dusty floor were old and deliberate, not fresh, not those of a man running. They'd lost his trail.

Snake-Eyes crouched to touch the footprints, then glanced up at Spirit, looking puzzled.

"My friend, I know he went this way," Spirit insisted. "We saw him round the corner, and it has been a straight path from there. There should have been nowhere else that he could go." It was as if Zap had vanished.

Snake-Eyes agreed: they'd both seen him turn the corner, and this dead end was up against the wall, framed by boxes. _Somehow, he went up, or around, or vanished into thin air. _His eyes narrowed and he glanced around them at the enormous crates, the sheer, heavy walls. They'd have heard him if he'd gone up and over: the crates were hollow, and footsteps resonated off them. He ran a hand over the side of the crate, feeling for cracks. _What would make a man simply vanish into thin air?_

"You think there is a secret passage? As do I," Spirit agreed.

----

"More activity," Low-Light murmured to himself, looking through his scope. "Looks like they see our helicopter moving. Action time." More of the blue-uniformed enemies had stormed onto the roof, taking up arms. They seemed to be focusing their attention on Wild Bill's helicopter, which was rising into the air. _Well, they'd have to be pretty damned stupid not to realize that a helo's a threat. At least that crazy Texan was able to fly it down low below radar coverage and land on the far side of this building so they never saw us here in the first place. _"I don't see Zap—guess I won't get my shot at him. I'll be picking off grunts and making sure you don't get _too_ hot a reception over there."

"Copy that," Wild Bill replied from his helicopter.

Low-Light controlled his breathing, relaxing every muscle in his body in slow, easy increments, and focused on a target downrange. Knowing he had the advantage of looking down, since he was on the taller building, he felt like he was in perfect position. He liked to challenge himself, and it was always the first shot that was the most difficult. Perfection couldn't be rushed. Low-light never rushed. "Here... we... go... "

The shot sounded loud even over the sound of the helicopter, splitting the night air. One of the terrorist jerked backwards, his mouth open, his head a ruin as he fell.

Low-Light blinked, once, very slowly, and aimed his muzzle just the slightest inch to the left. When he gently pulled the trigger, the next guardsman jerked backwards in a deja-vu parody of his partner.

Perfection couldn't be rushed.

It couldn't last, but it lasted long enough. The outcry of "Sniper!" came too late to keep Low-Light from picking off another guardsman.

They returned fire; he ducked down into cover, smiling faintly. "Three down… another row of sitting ducks to go."

----

"Hey, 'Rat, if you get us out of this, I'll let you date my sister," Roadblock said, matter-of-factly.

"No offense, 'Block, but if she has half the muscles you do and one-tenth of your chest hair, then she could still break me in two. Oh, don't get me wrong; I'm sure she's, uh, 'handsome' enough. But… I'll pass."

Roadblock laughed, loudly, his deep voice rolling through the small room like the rumble of the giant that he was. Tunnel Rat had always kind of liked that about 'Block—that he could be in a good mood even when they were 14 minutes and 17 seconds away from possible nuclear destruction.

Okay, not that they spent a lot of their time being 14 minutes and 17 seconds away from nuclear destruction.

"Not to rush you, Rat, but how's it coming?" Stalker asked. Well, that was Stalker, all right—he took things a bit more seriously than 'Block.

"Well... if you two would can it... " Tunnel Rat muttered, his hands flying over the circuits and cords, tugging, testing, focused.

Stalker got the hint.

----

_Click._ The pressure plate gave under Snake-Eyes' hand with a soft noise, but far more welcome was the whoosh of a door sliding open.

_Got it!_ He smiled, grimly. It must have been what Zap had used to get away.

It was actually very noisy in the next room. And windy. A helicopter sat on the fifth and highest floor level, but there was a wide panel in the ceiling, swinging slowly open as they watched. It looked just barely wide enough for a small helicopter, but the night sky was dim with light through it. Definitely a getaway hatch.

Zap was a pilot, both Snake and Spirit remembered. He wasn't as good as Wild Bill—not a lot of people were—but his helicopter was sleek and small, not Bill's bigger, bulkier transport. There were several guardsmen in the room, shielding their eyes and stumbling backwards as the helo's blades started to turn.

Spirit immediately pointed to the three soldiers on the ground and nodded, and then he pointed to Snake-Eyes, and, finally, pointed to the helicopter.

_Got it. I'll take the bird, you take the foot troops,_ Snake-Eyes thought. Spirit opened fire as Snake dashed into the room, with Zap's helicopter taking off out of the building.

From what he could see in the brief glance he'd gotten at the situation, it was likely that Zap had two gunners with him. Probably one on each side. And the helicopter had its own twin front cannons. _Not good._

Spirit was well aware of the trust that Snake-Eyes had put in him: Snake, despite his speed, was out of cover and running across an open space. If Spirit failed at what he had to do, the three guardsmen on the ground would cut down his friend, easily, with the machine guns cradled in the crooks of their arms.

But he had no intentions of failing, and his hands were steady when he put several well-placed rounds into each of the three visibly startled guardsmen. His only regret was that he wasn't carrying anything heavier than a nine-millimeter; it would take significantly more than that to take out a helicopter.

Snake didn't feel the heat of the bullets passing him, but he saw the three men fall almost immediately. _Thank you, Spirit._ His attention was all for the helicopter as he passed their bodies: it was climbing up high, and fast.

Snake jumped, extending his body in a long, taut curve, and snatched for the skids rapidly rising out of reach. One hand missed—the other didn't, and the force of gravity yanking at him almost pulled his shoulder from its socket. _This isn't a good idea. _He knew that his chances of making this work were infinitesimal. _But this is for Short-Fuze, and for Air-Tight._ He grabbed the skid with his other hand, and looked upwards.

He looked upwards into a muzzle pointed at his head: the side gunner. Snake-Eyes sucked in a sharp breath; the sound of a bullet seemed oddly muffled in his ears.

The side door gunner tumbled out of the side door and barely missed hitting Snake-Eyes on his way down. Snake glanced backwards to see Spirit, 9-mil raised, stance steady.

_That was close, _Snake thought. _I owe you one, my friend. _

It was all he could do to hold on, with the helicopter dragging upwards through the air and the blast of wind from the blades shoving him downwards. But just holding on wasn't what he needed to be doing—Snake-Eyes, with all of his strength, started hauling himself upwards.

----

_Shit_. They had better weapons than he'd thought.

Low-Light's aim wasn't as good, now that he was being fired upon, but his fourth shot still disintegrated a shoulder, and his fifth popped through a knee. But they were really starting to focus their fire: he was going to have to start ducking each time, popping up, taking aim, and squeezing off a shot as fast as he could. Not ideal with a sniper rifle… but at this point, he was a lone, exposed sniper on a rooftop. He'd take what he could get.

Above his head, he heard the crackle and pop of Shipwreck's M-16, the rattle of Heavy Duty's Gatling gun. Several more of the opposition went down, and for just a moment, the fire on him ceased._ Thanks, guys. _Low-Light felt rushed, and he hated feeling rushed. If this was a shooting gallery, then someone had just put a stopwatch and a target number on him, with that big red "Failure" sign just about ready to flash if he didn't meet his quota.

No way that'd happen. He was a professional, and he'd been at this too long for jitters. He took a deep breath, feeling his nerves settle as he held it, held it—rose, drew a bead on another enemy, and fired.

He didn't need to see his target fall to know he'd hit.

_Got another one,_ he thought, ducking back down and reloading.

----

Wild Bill's helicopter took a few hits from the soldiers up on the roof, but nothing serious. Mostly just a few bullet holes to the fuselage, missing all vital controls.

It was about this time that Wild Bill noticed that out of the hole of the warehouse roof, another helicopter was starting to rise into the night sky. He blew his breath out in a soft whistle—he couldn't tell who was flying it, but that little craft came with a serious set of fangs; front cannons, side gunners.

But… Bill blinked. _What the…?_

Something -- or someone -- was hanging off the skids of the helo, Bill noticed. Someone dressed all in black.

_Snake-Eyes?! _

----

"Wild Bill, this is Breaker. You probably know this already, but looks like an aircraft just popped out of the warehouse? Just showed up on our radar."

Wild Bill responded. "Enemy helicopter, looks like. Got more guns than we do, and a more maneuverable model than ours. This could get uglier than a chili cookout, pardner."

As Breaker was talking on the radio, Shana asked Firewall, "Do you have any way to track the others? We know Tunnel Rat found the nuke, but what about Snake-Eyes and Spirit?"

Firewall shook her head; she sounded discouraged "No, they're out of our cameras' range. But it's getting ugly in there, Shana."

Shana felt her voice shake. "How… ugly?"

Firewall looked up and met her gaze, cleanly. "Both teams are taking heavy fire. We're either going to have to make the call to vacate the area, because of that nuke, or we're going to have to go in and help them out. And… it's going to be soon."

----

Wild Bill slammed the stick to the side, taking evasive action as bullets crackled at them from the unidentified enemy helicopter. Shipwreck and Heavy Duty didn't return fire—there was no way for them to do anything but hold on tight as the helicopter banked. When Bill racked it up to the left at a steep sixty degree angle, he managed to avoid a few fatal shots but not enough: the helicopter shuddered from the force of the bullets slamming into its hull.

Shipwreck fought against gravity, gripping the handbar with one hand and pointing his M-16 at an opening with another: the other helicopter dodged, breaking off the attack.

Then Shipwreck blinked. "What the—uh… hey, guys? Is that… holy shit! That's Snake-Eyes on that helo! Man, I almost shot him!" All it would have taken was one stray bullet…

Wild Bill glanced back at him for one brief instant. "Yeah. I think it is, but 'Wreck, we gotta do this. If we don't fire on them, we ain't gonna last a minute in the air, and Snakes wouldn't want that either, would he?"

The two helicopters continued to fire at each other, locked in a high-powered duel of metal against metal, spent casings falling in a clattering shower over the rooftops and the street. It was obvious that if the pilots and the passengers had their way, only one of them was going to be flying out of there.

----

8:56 remained. _If only Air-Tight were here. Nukes are his specialty, not mine. This isn't like dismantling C-4 explosives. THAT, I can handle._ Tunnel Rat was sweating, diligently picking through the circuitry. Right now, this task wasn't just important—it was more important than any other task in the world.

----

As much as Low-Light wanted to take a shot at the helicopter pilot, he knew that by staying engaged with the terrorists on the opposite rooftop, he would also keep _them_ from firing at Bravo Team's helicopter. It was a fair trade-off, considering they had more guns than he did.

But the concentrated fire on him was just too heavy for him to keep picking them off with his sniper rifle. It was him against several—okay, many—and no matter how much better he was with his rifle, it was just too bulky, and not fast enough. He set aside his rifle with a wistful pat, and picked up his M-16, his mouth tight. The only thing that was keeping him alive, he knew, was the concrete half-wall in front of him. He wasn't going to give up, but it was really starting to feel like for every enemy he shot and took out, two more rushed to the roof to replace the fallen.

Then he heard the sharp clang of metal behind him, and when he turned, it was to watch the door to the rooftop being kicked out.

The terrorists poured out, and Low-Light watched death streaming up the stairwell for him.

He turned to face it—face them. There was no question of the odds—overwhelming—or the situation—hopeless. He had no cover. No backup. Distantly, he wondered if Wild Bill would have appreciated the situation: like an old western shootout, but this was definitely not one-on-one... and not with six-shooters.

He had a moment to watch. Just a moment. Bullets were flying, and smoke wisped up into the air from the firearms. The flash from the tracers lit up the rooftop around him. Then he raised his arm and sprayed them with his M-16.

The first bullet tore through his right shoulder, and he staggered back against the rail of the roof. Yanking up his wounded arm, he kept firing. Another bullet pierced his left leg, dropping him to one knee. The next one tore through his forearm, his hand spasming uselessly on the trigger. _Ah—_he tried to shove his weapon into his left hand, but the next bullet ripped through his belly, and the M-16 tumbled to the ground as he hunched over the agony.

Desperately, with a shaking hand – grunting through the pain as his body started to shut down – he grabbed a grenade off his web belt. _Why won't my fingers… _it took what felt like all his strength to pull the pin, slowly, carefully, hiding it against his body—through the pain, it almost took more than he had to hold the safety lever closed. A fifth bullet struck him. He couldn't feel more than the moment of impact—couldn't have even said where it hit. He looked down and found his uniform matted with blood, both shoulders dripping with it, before the impact drove him in a jolt against the rail. His already tenuous balance slipped, and he scrabbled for the ground, trying to hold himself up with his ruined right hand.

His left hand, holding the grenade, trembled. His shoulders, his knee, his stomach, his hand… the agony was more than a blur, it was a solid mass, edging out thought and drive and reason. It felt like the grenade weighed a hundred pounds. He couldn't—he couldn't—_I have to. _He looked at the crowd of them, standing in a blurred mass, black edging in on his vision. Then with strength he'd never thought he had, that he'd never thought he'd need, Low-Light jerked back his arm and lobbed the grenade clumsily into the crowd of terrorists.

The moment it left his hand, the last of his balance and the last of his reserves gone, Low-Light fell face forward, twisted, and into a dark, spreading stain of his own blood.


	22. Chapter 22: Mission Execution, Pt II

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: MISSION EXECUTION, PT II**

Snake-Eyes held onto the helicopter for dear life; his back and arm muscles flexed as tightly as they ever had, bulging through his black skintight commando outfit. He'd made some progress along the skids, despite the rapid twists of the helicopter, the loud noise of the firing weapons, the bullets that had whizzed past him, far, far too close for comfort. The side door was just… just… _there. _He grabbed the handle and clambered up onto the skids, standing. _Yes. _His handholds were better, here, and he wasn't dangling, but the helicopter was banking and turning at such sharp angles. He didn't have the chance to climb in. However, he was fairly certain Zap and the gunner on the far side of the helicopter hadn't seen him yet.

----

The two helicopters continued circling each other in a twisting dance punctuated by bullets, swerves. Zap's helicopter had the advantage of two powerful twin cannons mounted on the front—and Zap. Wild Bill knew very well that Zap was the more experienced of the two of them by far. _And that bird he's flyin—whoo-wee! _

But if Zap thought that he was going to make it easy for him, he had another thing coming. Bill knew he was a natural flyer—it was one of the reasons he'd made it to the team in the first place. He could almost see the frustration on his former teammate's face, every time Zap had him lined up for a kill shot—Wild Bill just wouldn't let kill him.

_I make this look easy, but don't you be fooled, pardner_, Wild Bill thought, feeling sweat matting his moustache.

"Come on come on come on!" Shipwreck shouted. He put a solid spray of bullets on the tail section of the enemy helicopter, but it wasn't enough to take out the tail rotor. It was hard enough to aim with Bill yanking and banking—he had to make every open shot that he _did_ get count. Shipwreck was about ready to swear that he'd have been able to take out Zap himself a dozen times already, if it hadn't been for Wild Bill jerking on the stick, throwing his aim off.

Of course, if it hadn't been for Wild Bill jerking on the stick, they'd probably have already gone down in a fireball, so he was okay with that.

"Hahaha! Got'm!" Heavy Duty laughed in a deep growl of a voice. His Gatling gun blasted apart the gunner in Zap's helicopter. "One more left! Just the pilot himself," he sneered, with disdain and disgust rolling from his lips. _Just the traitor_.

Their luck couldn't last.

As Wild Bill dodged once again, Zap finally outfired the Texan's evasive maneuvers. Bullets sprayed inside the cabin and up to the engine. The helicopter started to sputter. Black smoke started pouring out of the engine, and the helo started spinning and losing altitude rapidly.

"Hang on!!" Wild Bill yelled.

Shipwreck felt his body jerk from impact, and howled as the pain rocketed through him, his M-16 falling out of his hands, hanging on only by the lanyard. He brought a hand up to his shoulder and looked down—there was a small hole in his uniform that looked too small for the blood spilling from it, soaking his shoulder, his hand. "I'm hit! Heavy-Duty, you—"

But he fell silent when he looked over his shoulder. The big man's body was limp, arms flopping with the motion of the helicopter, his eyes wide open. Only the straps to the chair were holding him in place. Blood had soaked his uniform to black. His head lolled when the helicopter twisted.

Shipwreck looked away and braced himself before the helicopter crashed to the ground. His buddy was dead.

But there wasn't much time to think about it, as every single alarm and bell that the helicopter had was clanging or roaring or whining in Shipwreck's ear. It was almost impossible to keep his bearings, with the vertigo from the hospital spinning—the world was moving in a blur, with nothing for his eyes to focus on. All he could do was hold on as tightly as his wounded shoulder and shaking hands would let him, attempting to defy the tremendous power that was trying to tear him free of the smoking helo. _Centrifugal force, _he remembered, distantly. _It's a bitch._

Shipwreck closed his eyes and hoped beyond hope that Wild Bill could pull another miracle out of that big ten-gallon hat of his: getting the bird down with them still able to walk away.

----

6:14 remained.

"Maybe I _will_ date your sister if we get out of this. Just tell me she ain't as hairy as you, buddy?" Tunnel Rat twanged, in his Brooklyn accent.

Stalker rolled his eyes. Roadblock had piped down some—the big man actually looked a little more worried. Maybe the reality of the situation was finally sinking in. But 'Rat… 'Rat was irrepressible. "Breaker," he spoke into his 'com. "What's the status of the other team."

Breaker's voice sounded calm, but his words were sharp, clipped. Worried. "Not good, Stalker. Bravo Team's helo just got shot up and is going down. Me and Firewall have to move in. There are still bad guys on the roof, though Low-Light took most of them down. Low-Light and Spirit are status unknown. As for Snake-Eyes, you don't even…" to Stalker's alarm, Breaker heaved in a deep breath. "Let's just say that this is gonna be close. Just take care of the bomb."

Stalker shook his head, and disconnected the intercom. He wanted to be out on the roof—desperately wanted to help his friends, be part of the fight. Do _something! _But he knew full well that he and Roadblock had to protect Tunnel Rat in case anyone came into the room to investigate.

When he glanced over at Roadblock, he saw the big man watching him, a twist to his mouth. "This sucks, doesn't it? We should be up there, man."

Stalker nodded. _Spoken like a true warrior, Roadblock_.

"I wonder how many of the enemy even know about the nuke? And that they have less than seven minutes to survive? No way they're all martyrs," Stalker added. He wanted to ask how progress was going, but the last thing he wanted to do was distract Tunnel Rat.

Besides, if it was bad news anyway… he didn't want to know.

----

Snake-Eyes watched, his throat tight with horror and grief, as Wild Bill's bird plummeted to the ground below. He almost missed the fact that, for the first time, Zap was flying straight and level, now that the threat had been neutralized. But he felt the pop of his ears when Zap dropped them a little lower, about thirty feet off the ground—with the way they were pointing, he knew what was going through Zap's mind. It'd be so easy for them to line up a clear shot at Wild Bill's crippled helo when it impacted the street below.

"Time to finish them," Zap muttered to himself, underneath the loud roar of the helicopter engines. He had his finger on the trigger, aiming carefully, precisely at the wreckage below. He was milliseconds away from squeezing off several rounds of bullets—when something knocked his arm off the stick. Before he had the chance to glance down in puzzlement—before he had the chance to breathe—something wrapped around his neck and _squeezed_.

Unbeknownst to the pilot, Snake had taken the opportunity while the helicopter was under straight and level flight to jump inside.

It took everything Snake had to keep from just bringing his other hand up—twisting, snapping Zap's neck. It would be so easy. So _easy._ If he broke Zap's neck, there would be no-one left to fly the helo, and he wasn't flight-certified, but… it would be an even trade. Zap's life for his own. It would be the end of it.

But it wouldn't be justice. Not for Short-Fuze. Not for Air-Tight.

Not for Shana.

They were entangled—his knee pinning one of Zap's hands to the seat. He had his right arm wrapped around Zap's neck, his left one gripping his own forearm to keep it in place as Zap clawed at his elbow with his own free hand—but he spared just an instant to make a quick thumbs-down signal before grabbing on again. _Land this helicopter, you bastard!_

"Like… _Hell…_" Zap gasped out, through the arm around his neck. He dug his nails into the thick band of muscle—Snake felt his sleeve give, then skin, but he didn't move.

But then Zap kicked out and slammed the stick to the side, throwing the helicopter into a steep bank.

Knocked off-balance, Snake-Eyes felt his feet slipping out from under him, but his arm remained firm around Zap's neck. The new angle wrenched Zap's chin upwards, and Snake-Eyes felt the pilot slowly starting to go limp, the hand clawing at his arm falling away.

Then Snake-Eyes looked up to find the helicopter he was in heading straight towards one of the buildings.

----

Shana couldn't believe what was happening. This entire operation was like a bad dream. The entire van was shuddering around them as Firewall drove—Breaker had handed Shana the communications controls to Stalker's team while he yelled frantically for the rest of the team—the rest of their people—to sing out.

Not many of them were responding.

Breaker turned to yell at Firewall, "Faster, will ya?!"

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Firewall shouted back.

_Please, God. Please, please help them. Please don't take them. Not this soon. Not like this. _

Shana had never felt so sick in her entire life. If she'd been alone in her own room, she was sure she'd have been hysterical—or violently ill. She'd only gotten glimpses, through the fractured pictures through the many cameras, but it had been enough.

Air-Tight was dead; his camera still stared blindly at the ceiling of the warehouse. Just the other day, he'd patted her shoulder and told her a rather silly story of a redheaded grad student his college roommate had dated—the kind of story that wouldn't have sounded at all wrong coming from one of the older girls in Club Honey. He'd looked so puzzled when Heavy Duty had cuffed him behind the ear and growled, "What the Hell's the matter with you, man? Don't you know you aren't supposed to tell stories like that to a lady?!"

Low-Light… Low-Light had chuckled, deep in his throat, when he'd seen the small crossbow in her hand. She'd been surprised when he'd said, in his soft voice, "Little lady, when you want to learn a _real _weapon, you come find me." The camera on that roof where he'd held his position showed nothing but enemy guardsmen in their horrible blue. Some of them were dead. Many of them weren't. Too many of them weren't.

And Snake-Eyes. Snake-Eyes did sweet things, like hold her while she was shaking, and silly things like waggling his finger at her. She'd heard over the radio—Shipwreck's accented growl: _"Holy shit! That's Snake-Eyes on that helo!"_

He'd told her she was brave. He'd told her that she was stronger than she knew.

Listening to the screams, the crashes of the helicopters, watching men die on the camera screens like they were toys… Shana didn't feel very strong at all.

And then, through the windshield, she saw the small black helicopter—Snake-Eyes' helicopter—make a hard turning twist in the air, only feet away from the side of the building. _What's—_ Her eyes rounded in horror. _What's happening to—_

The helicopter smashed _into_ the side of the building, its remains plummeting to the ground in a fireball of metal and destruction.

She wanted to be professional. She wanted… she wanted to help.

But this… this was too much to ask of her. This was too much to bear.

Shana felt the tears running down her cheeks, pooling hot on her collar. She felt her lips part on a small, almost silent sigh. The intercom control fell from her hand and clattered to the floor; she glanced down at it, disinterested, wondering absently if the team had something to say—but the only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat, going too fast in her own ears.

"No, no, no!" Breaker muttered, desperately. Two helicopters down, all of Bravo Team unaccounted for, all of Alpha Team either dead, MIA, or minutes away from witnessing a nuclear explosion firsthand… "How much longer, Firewall?"

"Jeez Louise, Breaker! Two more minutes, give or take! You already gave me all greens, you can't do anymore, so just… I dunno, enjoy the ride!" Firewall was pushing over 75 MPH in what was normally a downtown speed limit of 25.

----

Down to 3:43. "Almost got it, guys. We're almost there... "

This was the best news either Stalker or Roadblock had heard from Tunnel Rat all day long. They would have held their breath if they'd thought it would help. Each second that ticked away felt like an eternity. Stalker and Roadblock were sweating profusely—maybe even more than Tunnel Rat.

3:21, 3:20, 3:19, and ticking.

"Hey, 'Rat, I have to ask, man. How much is 'almost?' In, you know, a time reference?" Stalker finally demanded.

"Almost… means _almost_... " Tunnel Rat replied calmly, but sternly. He kind of understood, now, how guys felt when their wives started trying to have meaningful conversations with them during the Super Bowl. He removed a few parts of the bomb, setting them gently next to him and on the table, but the clock still kept ticking.

2:58, 2:57...

He slid his hands back inside and continued to work. "Okay... yes, yes... " For the first time, he was talking out loud as he worked, crooning to the machinery.

2:43, 2:42...

"Hey, Roadblock…?" Tunnel Rat said.

Roadblock blinked, his chin jerking upwards. What the heck? What did 'Rat want, this late in the game? "Wh—what, man?"

Quietly and calmly, Tunnel Rat asked him, "So, Marvin, my friend… got a question for ya."

Roadblock wanted to shout out, "SHOULDN'T YOU BE WORKING ON DEACTIVATING THE NUCLEAR BOMB, PERHAPS??"

2:36, 2:35...

But instead, with a blank face, the solid man twice Tunnel Rat's size, stuttered out a choked and meek, "...Yes?"

Spirit sprinted out of the warehouse, towards the wreckage of Wild Bill's helo. It had taken awhile to get back down through the building, but with the chaos from their attack, most of the guardsmen had been distracted. He hadn't had to kill more than a few of them. And he'd seen their spirits flag, their courage draining from their eyes, when they'd seen Zap's helicopter go down.

Shipwreck was alive—screaming in pain, swearing with impressive creativity; Spirit thought it could have almost been funny, if 'Wreck hadn't been so badly hurt. Wild Bill was silent, unconscious against the dash, but he was breathing—a trickle of blood matted the side of his face from underneath his hat. Spirit leaned over to check his pulse.

Wild Bill muttered, eyes closed. "Lost another helo... too bad, this one was a sweet ride..."

Spirit smiled. His pulse was strong—his mind was stronger. Yes, he would live.

The same was not true of the rest of them.

"Oh, no," he whispered, looking over at the Gatling gun. Heavy Duty was dead, twisted around his straps. _Ah, my friend. I am sorry._

Shipwreck cursed, loudly, when Spirit shifted some of the metal lying over his legs, but his eyes were clear. "How are the others?" he asked.

"Wild Bill will be fine," Spirit replied, quietly. Heavy Duty… but perhaps 'Wreck already knew. His friend met his eyes.

"I know. Heavy Duty… he's…" Shipwreck looked away.

Spirit bowed his head in agreement. "Let's get you out of here." He reached out and cut Shipwreck's straps. When Breaker arrived at his side, panting, he directed him over to Wild Bill.

Shipwreck would live, and he was stable—grimacing in pain, but stable. Spirit bowed his head again, and rose to his feet, turning back to the buildings.

It would be his grim duty to collect his fallen comrades from their resting places.

----

Breaker, Firewall and Shana screeched to a stop near the wreckage of the helicopters.

The moment she had the van stable and braked, Firewall leaped out. She'd seen Shana jump out before the van was even fully stopped—the girl had stumbled, fallen to one knee, but caught herself. And Breaker was running over to Spirit, and 'Wreck—they didn't need her help there. Firewall ran to the wreckage of the other helicopter—Zap's helo.

To her surprise, Shana was already there—her expression cold and quiet as she wrenched up pieces of wreckage with small, bare hands. _Wow, Shana can seriously beat feet. I thought __I__ was fast,_ Firewall thought to herself.

She glanced sideways, concerned. Shana was keeping it together, she _thought, _but… the girl didn't seem to realize that her face was soaked in tears, and that her fingers were bleeding from the hot, sharp metal pieces she was grabbing.

Firewall swallowed a scream as Shana yanked out a large piece that had once been a helicopter blade, and carried it away—underneath it was a hand, an arm, unattached to a body. It was wrapped in the tatters of a leather jacket—not a black skin-suit. She reached out and pushed away another piece of metal with one foot—found the shoulder that the arm had come from.

Firewall backed away, then reached out and touched Shana's arm—she recoiled back when Shana whirled with startling, vicious speed. Those soft green eyes weren't soft, and looked at her as if she were a stranger.

"Shana…" Firewall said, softly, "Just… don't look, okay? There's… that's Zap, there."

Then the ice cracked, and there was understanding, grief, horror, fear looking back at her in a face too young for so much pain. Zap was dead… but there was no evidence of Snake-Eyes in the wreckage. Firewall saw the other young woman turn away.

"_Snake-Eyes!_" Shana yelled. Her voice was husky, raw. "Snake-Eyes—where _are_ you?!"


	23. Chapter 23: Mission Execution, Pt III

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: MISSION EXECUTION, PT III**

"Well, y'know, buddy, I'm not really interested in your sister, but your boat...you know, the one down in Mississippi?"

Stalker and Roadblock looked at each other as if to demand, "What the heck is he talking about? And why now?" If he was going to lose his marbles, they wouldn't exactly have the time to enroll him in therapy or counselling. _Please don't crack, buddy, not right now,_ Stalker thought.

2:11, 2:10...the bomb kept ticking.

"Uh… my boat? Sure… what about it?" Roadblock asked, slowly, trying to feel Tunnel Rat out.

"Would you give it to me if I stopped the bomb?" Tunnel Rat asked, slow and deliberate, not taking his eyes off his work.

2:02, 2:01…

"Yeah, man…" Roadblock gulped, his eyes glued to the slow countdown, "Yeah!"

Suddenly, they heard a harsh "BEEP." Stalker flinched. Roadblock squeezed his eyes shut.

Nothing happened.

Roadblock pried one of his eyelids open—to find the timer, frozen, unmoving, at 1:58. One minute and fifty-eight seconds until nuclear detonation. That's how close they were.

The tiny monitor blinked at him, once, twice, then went black. The device was disabled.

"Is that… bad?" Stalker muttered.

Tunnel Rat just smiled, hands slightly shaking.

Stalker and Roadblock, hearts racing, heaved a huge sigh of relief, doubling over, pressing their hands on their knees as if they had just crossed the finish line on a marathon and wanted nothing more than to catch their breath.

Tunnel Rat closed his eyes and stretched his hands over his head. He relaxed, slowly, dropping his hands behind his head as the adrenaline dripped slowly away… and murmured, "I think I'm gonna like sailing…"

----

"Unbelievable!" Spirit murmured in Navajo. Low-Light had a pulse. He hadn't found anything when he'd checked Low-Light's wrist, but he thought he'd felt the faintest flutter at the crease of his elbow… and when he'd checked the sniper's femoral pulse, he'd found it weak, and thready, but undeniably _there. _"Praise the spirits… Breaker, call for a helicopter! Low-Light is still alive!"

He heard the shock in Breaker's voice: the hacker had already written off their sniper, no doubt. All of them had. "He's—Spirit, I'm on it!"

Spirit pulled the coagulant strips from his pocket and started searching Low-Light for active bleeds. "Stay strong, my friend," he told him. "We'll get you home. You've made it this far—don't give up…!"

----

"Oh my—" Firewall found Snake-Eyes. She didn't know _how _the man had survived—between the frying pan of an exploding helicopter and a thirty foot drop of a fire, it wasn't just a miracle, it was almost _impossible. _But there he was—and still trying to sit up, propping himself against the side of the building. It was so Snake-Eyes that she almost cried in relief. "Shana! Shana, over here! He's here!"

That drop had more than knocked the wind out of him—Snake-Eyes knew that the fact that he was conscious at all probably wasn't going to last long. Catching himself against that ledge as he'd fallen had bounced him off the side of the building, hard, and he'd felt his shoulder give with a sickening pop before his fingers had spasmed. It'd broken his fall a little, but he _hurt_, and pushing his shoulder back in by pressing it against the wall had almost sent him down into unconsciousness.

On the other hand, the agony—his legs, his shoulder, his back, his hips, maybe a rib or two—meant he was alive. And even through his clouded, hazy vision, the blood in his eyes from where he'd hit his head against the cement, he could see Shana. Running. Towards him.

She dropped to her knees in front of him—fast enough to take off skin—and wrapped her arms around him. Perhaps a little too tight—Snake-Eyes felt himself seizing up in pain as she hugged him. He gasped—pointed at his shoulder.

"What?" Shana made a soft, apologetic noise and let him go, quickly. "Oh—I'm so sorry! I… I'm just so glad that you're alive! I thought... Zap, his body, I thought that..." Now that the adrenaline was starting to burn its white-hot way out of her system—now that she knew that he was alive, oh, he was!—she was… she didn't know what she was. Relief wasn't the word for how she was feeling, right now. Shana leaned in, towards him, more slowly, like she would have a wounded animal, and gently cupped his face in both her hands. Then she leaned in, ignoring the mask in the way, and kissed him right where she thought his lips would be. "Oh, Snake! Is your shoulder broken? What else?"

Snake-Eyes stared down at her—her pale, grimy face, the fact that her face was still stained with tears, her eyes red with them, and wondered—what had he ever done in his life, that this beautiful, brave young girl would run onto a battlefield to kiss him?

But… no. He couldn't encourage her—he shouldn't. Right? He turned away, and started to signal to Firewall, wincing at the strain that it put on his shoulder.

Shana ducked her head as he turned away—she hadn't meant to kiss him, it'd just sort of… happened. Well, what else could he do but ignore it? And how had she been expecting him to reply to her, anyway?

Firewall crouched beside her, nodding in time to Snake's signing. "Um… let me see. He says he dislocated his shoulder, maybe broke it… ankle's twisted, possible fracture in other leg, maybe a rib or two. But he's okay." Firewall rolled her eyes and grinned at Shana, sideways—the relief in her face, Shana thought, probably mirrored her own. "_His_ version of 'okay,' anyway."

He kept signing, and Shana sighed. _I need to learn more ASL than a few computer lessons' worth… _Shana thought.

But Firewall laughed. "I know, right?" she chuckled, patting Snake's knee.

"What did he say?" Shana asked. It was none of her business, but her curiosity was getting the best of her… especially after what she'd seen on the C-130.

Firewall ducked her chin—Shana's eyes narrowed at the hint of pink that crept around the girl's cheeks. "Well, this is kind of awkward..."

Shana wanted to slug Snake-Eyes right in the broken shoulder. She was really starting to wonder if he and Firewall _did_ have something going. It wasn't as if she and _he_ had anything, but she'd thought… well… had she just misread his signals in the first place? After all, he _had_ been acting strange since they'd arrived at The Pit. Maybe he and the funny, friendly hacker girl really did have a thing. _Take a breath, Shana. You're just overreacting because this situation is so intense. We're all supposed to be adults, here, and… and what he does is not your business. Give him the benefit of the doubt._

After a few moments, Firewall murmured, "Well... back on the plane earlier, I went to Snake-Eyes to apologize to him about revealing his location to Zap, you know? I mean, we thought he was on our side—but still, I just felt awful. Anyway, he was very understanding about it." She shrugged. "But after that, Snake-Eyes asked me if I could watch over you. I tried to tell him that you, of all people, didn't need someone your own age watching over you..." Firewall's head turned, and she glared at Snake-Eyes, "but he insisted, so what could I say? Besides, I know he needed that reassurance."

Shana blinked as Firewall leaned in closer and whispered, "You know how guys can be."

_I guess, but… why would he need reassurance?_ She wondered.

_I might be mute, Firewall, but I'm not deaf,_ Snake-Eyes wanted to mutter, but he kept his thoughts to himself. _He_ was still trying to figure out just why Firewall had thought that he needed reassurance.

Firewall continued, "Anyway, just now, Snake-Eyes said, and I quote, 'Looks like I should have asked you to protect _me_ instead.' Which, right now, looks all-too-ironically true. Pretty funny, if you think about it, huh?"

Shana, still sitting on the floor next to Snake-Eyes, smiled. Okay, so maybe she was being jealous for nothing. She glanced over at Snake-Eyes, thinking, _You big silly_.

He shrugged his good shoulders (almost reading her mind) as if to ask, "Hey, what did you expect?"

Firewall watched them—yes, the way they were looking at each other was a good indication that she needed to beat it and give them some space. "Hey, Shana, I'm gonna go help the others, okay?" she pushed to her feet. "Would you mind making sure he doesn't try anything stupid—like, say, walking on that leg until we get him some medical attention?"

But she was already chuckling to herself as she walked away. Big, tough, warrior-supreme Snake-Eyes knocked dead by a pretty redheaded teenager. Who would have thought?

There was a few moments of silence between Snake-Eyes and Shana.

Shana broke the ice first. "Snake-Eyes, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean any of it. You're not a big jerk. I..."

Snake put a finger to her lips, gently. He took a deep, shaky breath, and hung his head, pointing to himself and sweeping out a hand in an exasperated manner. It was as if he was saying, "I know, I'm to blame, too, and I shouldn't have treated you the way I did." At least, that's what Shana got from it.

She took his hand, carefully, between hers, and gently pulled his finger from her lips. "No, Snake-Eyes, you were… well, you were kind of right. I _should _have listened to you. I know that, I know you were trying to protect me. I guess… I'm not used to it. _I've_ always been the one who's had to make sure everyone was okay in my family—make sure the check book's balanced, dinner's on the table… you know. No-one's ever tried as hard as you have to watch out for _me_, not even my own father. I mean, he protects me in different ways, of course, but… well… now I'm just rambling." She grimaced, and looked away. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm just a silly girl with a silly crush, and you… well, look around." She didn't—she looked down at the dark-gloved hand she was holding, the fact that his black suit was ripped, bloodied. "You single-handedly save not only me, but all of America, all of the _world_, on a daily basis… and _I_ gave you a hard time about wanting to protect me?"

She shook her head, and let his hand fall, gently, back to his lap. "I wouldn't blame you if you never wanted to see me again. All I've ever done is drag you into deeper trouble, and make your job even harder than it already is….

It was hard enough not being able to speak, but on those rare moments when he felt like interrupting someone, he just didn't have that ability. Snake-Eyes frowned, frustrated. She wasn't looking at him, and probably wouldn't have even been able to understand him if she had been. Since he couldn't very well silence her verbally, Snake-Eyes decided to take another route.

While she was still talking and in mid-sentence, Snake-Eyes unzipped one of his pockets and pulled out a silver locket, flicking it open with one practiced motion. He knew what was inside—a picture of two redheads. One was a young girl with a gap-toothed, beautifully cheerful smile; the other was an older woman.

Snake-Eyes had to suppress his wince of pain when he twisted his shoulder to pull off his glove, but he held his hand out to her anyway, offering her the locket that she'd once given him.

Shana stopped talking, and looked down at his hand. Her fingers trembled as she brushed a finger over the open little locket. Her hand closed around it, and she carefully lifted it off his palm.

And then, she started crying. Sobbing. Bawling.

He understood. There had been so much pressure on this young woman, and she had seen so much in this one day. He still had flashbacks to the horrors that she'd witnessed when she'd just been a young girl—and now, she was going through many of the same things again. In some ways, he imagined, it was worse: she could understand, now, just what it meant when a friend went down in battle—just how pointless and how sudden death was, sometimes.

Snake slid over next to her, pulling her in towards him and ignoring the sharp stab of pain, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She tucked her face against his chest, her shoulders heaving. All he could do to comfort her was hold her as tightly as he could, and let her get it all out.

Finally, she pulled away, and glanced down at the small bit of jewelry in her hand. It looked so much smaller than she remembered—the silver was tarnished darker, and the pictures were faded. "You really kept it, all these years? I can't..." She sniffed, filled with emotion. Then she laughed a little. It had seemed like such a good idea when she'd been nine, leaving her locket for him… but as she'd grown older, she'd realized: what in the world would he want with a locket, anyway? But… he'd actually _kept _it. "I always hoped that doctor would keep his word… Snake, I… don't know what to say."

And… it was in his pocket? Had he really carried it with him for ten years?

He could see the surprise in her eyes—the pleasure in them. He wanted to tell her that he'd kept the locket since he'd woken up in the hospital to find it in his hand. He wanted to tell her, "Hey, you _are_ special to me, Shana, and you always have been. I've carried this on me for eleven years, and I plan to carry it for the rest of my life."

She'd always been at the back of his thoughts, his mind, his prayers—that little girl with the incredible eyes—the little girl who hadn't screamed, hadn't cried, hadn't fought as they'd made it through one of the worst situations he'd ever been in. He'd known he'd never forget her. And now, he knew he would never forget the young woman that she'd blossomed into.

Not just 'the little girl.' Shana. A name, a face. A smile, an easy laugh. A mischievous twinkle as she signed at him, and a look of fierce determination when she faced him down. Brave and terrified, playful and solemn. Beautiful. Accepting.

Shana looked at him, and knew. He couldn't talk to her at the moment—and he was probably in too much pain to write down what he felt. But she knew what he meant. What he was feeling.

She wasn't sure when he'd stopped being 'the man who rescued me' and started being, well… Snake-Eyes. Snake-Eyes, who could talk with just the way his shoulders were set, and always knew when she needed his arm around her. He was just a man, after all—one who bowed her into her own home and could yell at her without so much as saying a word. One who would take the time to comfort her, even though he was bruised, half-broken, sitting in the middle of the worst destruction she'd ever seen.

Shana swallowed, hard. She had to stop dragging him down. She had to, but…

Carefully, she handed the locket back to him. "Snake-Eyes, this is yours. I still want you to keep it—maybe it'll help you… think of me. Think of me as that little girl back then, but… think of me just as I am, right now, too."


	24. Chapter 24: Damage Control

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: DAMAGE CONTROL **

"Snake, I've been thinking," Shana said, wiping away the last remnants of her tears. "I'm tired of crying, of leaning on your shoulder, of feeling… just _helpless_."

He turned his face towards her; she could almost see his frown.

She smiled through her wet lashes, and amended, "Wait, let me clarify! I absolutely _love_ leaning on your shoulder, and you've been so wonderful to me. Way back then, and even now. What I'm trying to say is..."

"I guess…" maybe he wouldn't like what she had to say, but she had to say it. "I want… my whole life, I've thought that there has to be a reason my mother died. A reason I saw the things that I saw." She wondered at the quirk of sadness. "But at the same time, I've spent my whole life trying to bury that part of my past. Trying to be ordinary. Trying to be everyone else—like all that had happened to some other Shana O'Hara. And you called me strong, before, but Snake… that's the problem. I'm _not_."

She saw his chin jerk upwards, clearly bothered by what she was saying. His hand flicked upwards, trying to sign, automatically—she gently put her fingers on it and pressed it down.

"No. I'm not," she shook her head. "But… but I can be, I think. I think… it's not about reason, is it? Maybe there _is _no reason. But what about purpose? What about making sure that what happened to me doesn't happen to anyone else? I don't know how I'm going to do it, but… but I think… I'm _not _ordinary. And it's time for me to stop pretending I am."

"You, your team… you see horrible things, but you're all funny, real people, too, and you spend your days saving people who might not even _care_. And I know you want to protect me, but… but if I don't make something of myself, then nothing good will ever come of Mama's death." Her shoulders sagged, and she bowed her head. "Or Air-Tight's. I can't just stick my head back into my shell and make believe that this kind of thing doesn't happen."

Shana knew what she wanted. She'd known it the moment she'd realized his arm was around her shoulder again, bruised and battered as he was. And it would be a long road—and maybe it was one that could lead nowhere—but…

"Snake-Eyes, I know you've been trying to keep me safe, all this time. But you can't protect me forever, and you can't protect me from this," Shana said, softly. "I need to fight the people who did this. Somehow. My way. And maybe I can't jump out of helicopters or shoot a gun—I get that." She felt her lips curve into a small grin at the thought. She couldn't do those things _yet_, anyway. "But if there's any way I can be someone that people can count on to have their back. Someone like you, or Stalker, or… or any of your team, not someone who has to be rescued and dragged around crying… that's the kind of person I want to be."

She was dreading the worst. She was pretty sure that if Snake-Eyes had his way, she wouldn't ever go _near_ the people who had so hurt her family, but… it still mattered, what he thought. Shana bowed her head and said, softly, "It'd mean a lot to me if you'd back me up on this, Snake."

No, he didn't like it. No, he didn't want her anywhere near the terrorists that had not once, but twice, tried to harm her. He only had to look at her—her fingers were scratched, bleeding, her face streaked with dust and tears—to know that her being hurt could damage him in ways that no fire, no bullet, ever would.

But he held his ungloved hand out to her anyway. She reached out, hesitantly, obviously uncertain of exactly what he wanted. It was nice, feeling her fingertips against his for the first time. If he hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that there was a spark of electricity that shot between them as they touched.

Slowly, he slid his hand against hers, intertwining their fingers. He heard her sigh, softly—watched the way she was watching him.

Holding her hand felt… amazing. He didn't want to let go—ever. Under his mask, Snake-Eyes was wincing at the thought of her being in any kind of danger, but… he had to admit that if he'd been able to look at the situation objectively, he'd have had no reason to object to whatever her plans were for the future. She was intelligent, resilient, and a heck of a fighter at heart. He knew that. The CIA, the NSA… they'd snap up someone like Shana O'Hara in a heartbeat.

Snake lowered his head, ever-so-slightly, and bit his lip… but there was no point in delaying the inevitable any longer. He nodded his agreement. _But be safe, Shana. Be safe, please._

The smile that crossed her face was radiant, and she leaned over to kiss him soundly on the cheek. Her beautiful, emerald-green eyes shot through him like an electric charge—the joy in them at his acceptance made his chest hurt. Did his approval matter so much to her? _I just wish she could see my eyes as I see hers. _

But Shana did see them. Or at least, she thought she did—beautiful eyes, hidden behind his visor and mask. She couldn't exactly see them with her own eyes, but she didn't need to—her mind, her heart, her soul, knew what they were saying. He _was _beautiful to her, no matter what he looked like. No matter what kind of scarring he had.

"You can't protect me forever, Snake," she said, gently. "You do things your way, and I'll do them mine. Besides… you've taught me a thing or two along the way, right? How could I fail, with a teacher like you?"

Snake-Eyes lurched upwards, backwards, as she slowly slid her fingertips underneath his mask. But she could tell—it wasn't that he was trying to stop her, and it wasn't because he was in pain, but he just hadn't been expecting it. He had so much power and so much hurt, like a wounded animal—carefully, as if she were trying to calm a tiger, she held her fingertips lightly against his skin and just blinked at him, slowly.

It worked. He relaxed, if only a little, just watching her. When she knelt by his side and gently, carefully, lifted his mask just above his scarred lips, she felt him shake again. She almost felt herself shake. But before he could do anything, she leaned in and kissed his lips again.

It was just a gentle, soft kiss. Just a little brush of her mouth against his, innocent. It lasted only a few seconds.

It was an eternity.

Snake-Eyes, suddenly, somehow, forgot that he was supposed to be in pain. And before he could blink, she'd gently tucked his mask back down again and carefully scooted in behind him, moving him from leaning against the wall to tucked into her arms. His head rested against his shoulder—he could feel her cheek against his temple.

"I'll be okay, Snake," she whispered. "And you will, too."

Much to his own surprise, held against her like this, the aches and pains of his body strangely distant against the softness of her, the half-nonsense words she was murmuring into his ear… he believed her.

Letting his guard down for the first time since he'd arrived in Chicago—actually, for the first time since he'd joined the unit, well over eleven years ago—Snake-Eyes felt… normal. And even more importantly, as he closed his eyes and rested against her, he felt…

Peaceful.

----

By this time, several police vehicles, ambulances, and fire trucks had responded to the violent battle in Chicago. After the approach of an obviously hostile police force, Stalker had smoothed the situation over by handing the police chief their orders and mission paperwork. After one phone call from the police chief to the contact number on Stalker's documents, they'd suddenly become more than willing to help.

Medical personnel were tending to Low-Light, as life flight was evacuating him immediately to the nearest hospital. Spirit went with him. Other medics were patching up Shipwreck and Wild Bill, getting ready to load them up in the ambulance; when Firewall directed them towards Snake-Eyes, they dispatched a medic and a stretcher team.

They were prepared for a disaster—for a screaming, writhing member of the military. But they found him breathing slowly, steadily, in no apparently distress—carefully wrapped in the embrace of a beautiful, redheaded young woman.


	25. Chapter 25: Sometimes Heros Must Fall

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: SOMETIMES THE HEROES MUST FALL**

The room was silent as Major General Hawk stepped up to the podium. The same room that had been used for delivering countless mission briefings was now being used to remember their fallen comrades from their most recent mission, five days before. Various flower arrangements covered the room and the lights were dimmed; it hardly looked recognizable from the plain, utilitarian briefing room that everyone was used to. Two large photos were propped up on stands, with flowers strewn about their bases. One was of Air-Tight, and one was of Heavy Duty. They would soon be joining Short Fuze on the Fallen Warrior plaque hanging in the back of the room.

Zap's name would be noticeably absent.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. You know, it is never easy at a time like this, addressing warriors such as yourselves after losing fellow soldiers in arms. We were fortunate that many of you—many of _us_—survived the most recent conflict."

"Some of you came back wounded—but you're still with us. Snake-Eyes," the General said, nodding to the man in the crowd—his arm was in a sling, still. "Shipwreck," he said, referring to the seaman, sitting in a wheelchair with his arm in a cast. "Wild Bill," Hawk nodded to the Texan in the back of the room; Bill's head was wrapped with bandages, underneath his cowboy hat. "Low-Light couldn't be with us today, but he seems to be improving, and his status was just changed from critical to stable. Doc and Lifeline are both with him at Chicago National Hospital. Of course, any of you not on orders are cleared and encouraged to fly out and visit him. Doc agrees that his survival is nothing short of a miracle, so those of you that pray, make sure you give prayers of thanks."

"I salute you four; you have been put in for Purple Hearts and will receive them… well… when the paperwork makes it through." There was a brief rush of chuckles through the crowd. Hawk felt bad that the awards weren't ready for this particular ceremony, but that was the military. Not even a general had the power to speed up a bureaucracy, sometimes.

The general continued, "But even those of you who weren't physically injured still suffered. When one of us is wounded, all of us are wounded. When one of us dies, a part of us dies with them. We fight together. We bleed together. Sometimes, we even die together. Yet we accept this, because this is what we do, and this is who we are. God, duty, country. These are the words we live by. Because of this, sometimes the heroes fall."

"It is times like these that people like you make a difference between not only life and death, but also between freedom and slavery. It is people like you that, instead of sitting on the sidelines when terror strikes, stand up with pride and anger and are willing to do something about it, raising your fist in the air, declaring at the top of your lungs, 'Not in my country!'"

"So, today we honor the fallen. Reluctantly, we add two names to the Fallen Warrior plaque, joining our friend and compatriot, Short Fuze.

"Air-Tight, a.k.a. Kurt Schnurr, will always be remembered as a practical joker, a fearless warrior, and a trusted friend. He will most certainly be missed.

"Heavy Duty, a.k.a. Lamont Morris, will always be known for being one of the physically strongest on the team as well as one of the most intense. But he will also be remembered for his love of music and his gentle nature -- at least when you got to know him." The team let out a quiet laugh, momentarily forgetting the pain of the moment.

"But after the rain falls down and the raging storms pass on, we remember the sun comes out and the grass grows greener. Mark my words: we _will_ march on. Our team has skipped a beat, stumbled, and maybe even fallen; but we will pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and _we will march on_." The inflection in his voice as he spoke the last four words resonated through the room, letting each and every person in the room know: their unit would not falter.

"But just as we have lost some dear friends, we have gained some new ones. Many of you know our dear civilian—Shana O'Hara." Shana blinked, and her chin jerked up—she found many of the people in the room turning their heads, offering her smiles. "Few of you know, I think, exactly what she's done for us."

"Imagine this, if you will. It's your first mission, and everything's gone straight to Hell. You're outgunned, outmanned, in unfriendly territory, without even a weapon in hand. You've been given very specific orders by your commanding officer, who is older, and more experienced: if he gives the signal, you're to run and not look back. He gives the signal—and you know he's trying to cover your escape. You know you can make it out of there… but you know, with the same certainty, that if you run, they'll gun him down. What do you do?"

"Now, I know what a good, well-trained, obedient recruit would do." Hawk's mouth quirked in a brief, startling grin. "Shana O'Hara picked up an antique crossbow, instead."

A light sprinkling of laughter echoed through the briefing room, and Shana ducked her head to hide her humiliation—but the gently condescending amusement trailed off as Hawk continued, "She put her first quarrel into the wall, just barely missing one of their attacker's ears—not where she wanted it, probably, but enough to take the pressure off Snake-Eyes and draw their fire onto herself. Her second shot jammed deep into a man's thigh, and Snake-Eyes gunned him and his partner down while they were distracted. And when Snake-Eyes's clip ran dry, and our man Snake here was looking down the barrel of a fully loaded M-16—Shana put an arrow right through the throat of the bastard holding it."

"Ladies and gentlemen, if it hadn't been for Shana O' Hara, we'd have another name on our Fallen Warrior plaque today. Some of you might say it was luck. Others of you—others who have seen her standing at our shooting grounds—know better, because skill is one thing… and courage under fire is another."

All eyes were on her, now, and she was sure that her famous redhead blush was covering her all the way to her arms. But despite the sorrow in the room, when she peeked up through her lashes… there was pride in many of their faces—nods and smiles in her direction—and understanding glittering in many, many pairs of eyes before they turned away. And when she glanced up, Hawk's smile was just for her.

_But… but wait, how did General Hawk…_

"Thank you, Shana," he said, in that same gentle voice. "I know I speak for all of us when I wish you all of the best… but I have the suspicion, too, that it's not luck that's going to get you to your goals. It'll be the same spirit that's seen you through all your trials this far."

When he looked away, finally, Shana felt a hand on her shoulder, a careful, subtle pressure—not squeezing as much as just barely touching her. When she glanced at it, she found Snake-Eyes watching her, his fingers gently resting against her shoulder.

There had only been two people who had survived that pawnshop—and she certainly hadn't told Hawk anything.

_Oh. Oh, Snake-Eyes._ Shana felt her blush brighten, and ducked her head further as his fingers gently released her skin. _I guess… I guess you __are__ proud of me, after all._

"On this note, there is more good news. We completed the mission, and the nuclear device was dismantled, thanks to all of you -- and specifically, Tunnel Rat," General Hawk said, gesturing to the New Yorker, as those next to him either nudged him or patted him on the back. "Millions of lives were saved, and not a single one of them—at least outside of this room—realizes how close they were to being vaporized. How close were they, Tunnel Rat?"

"One minute and fifty-eight seconds, sir!" Tunnel Rat shouted, and the room roared with laughter and applause. 'Rat stood up half-way, twisting to address the rest of the crowd with a quick wink to Roadblock, "…and if anyone wants to come fishing in my brand new boat…"

Major General Hawk couldn't help but smile, but brought the soldiers back to focus. "At ease."

He shifted his lapel and continued, "There is more. We found some very important documents at the site of the helicopter crash. These documents had the nuclear device activation code—the one that Zap used before he left the warehouse. They also contained the name of the terrorist organization. After all these years, we've finally been able to zero in on them...."

A hush fell over the warriors in the crowd, listening intently to General Hawk.

"They are known as... Cobra."

The name sunk in to each and every person in the crowd—a name that none of them would ever, ever forget. These people, these monsters_, _these _snakes_, for their own purposes, had felt no qualms about setting off a nuclear device in the middle of one of America's largest cities.

"Before you return to your posts, or your leave, I want you to think of this. It is because of terrorists such as Cobra that our unit was formed. We are all that stands between them and possible world destruction. Our name is classified, but you are the exemplars of it. Don't ever forget that—and carry yourselves, and our name, with pride."

He looked over the gathered warriors, and nodded, once. "Dismissed."

----

*Authors note: One more chapter to go! More of an epilogue. Hope you enjoyed the story this far; please let me know what you think after I post the last chapter in the next few days!


	26. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

"Have I mentioned how sweet it is, you taking me all the way back home? I know, you've probably been at my house enough times that you could find it walking backwards…" Shana chuckled, striding along beside him, up the long driveway to her home. Her father's car was out of the garage—which was good; the explanations were going to be hard enough as it was without her walking up with a masked man dressed all in black at her side. She waggled a playful eyebrow at him and drew on her favorite Southern-Belle accent. "Why, Ah do declare, good sir! Mah daddy would have a right fit, a gentleman sneakin' into our house to see li'l ol' me! Ain't it right roman-tic?"

He gave her a sideways look that was about half amusement, half eye-roll.

"Oh, shush; never mind the terrorists and plot to blow up Chicago. You're missing the big picture!" she grinned back at him. "You know it's _your _fault I say things like that, right?"

This time, he stopped, cocked his head, and planted both hands on his hips. She could definitely read the "Oh, and how is that _my _fault?" in his posture.

"It is!" she insisted. "What can I say? You must be doing _something, _because I definitely say things around you that I normally pretty much keep to myself! I'm telling you, I'm normally a very quiet girl!"

This time he did laugh his silent laugh, and reached over to drape his good arm over her shoulders, giving her a brief squeeze.

"I know you don't believe me, but I'm serious," Shana murmured, feeling the smile fade from her lips at the solid weight of his arm over her. "I can't believe how much I talk around you. You just feel so… comfortable. How do you do it, buster?"

_You disarm me, Snake-Eyes. You catch me off-guard_, she thought—but she didn't say it. She didn't dare; the words were written on her soul with something that felt like pain. It would be a long time before she saw him again… if she ever did. _You really do, Snake... a__nd, somehow... all without saying a word._

Scarlett continued their one-way conversation with a brief shake of her head, as they started walking again. _No. Not now. Not…_ "You know, I wish you didn't have to go back to the Pit so soon," she mused, shaking her head. "I could have showed you around Atlanta some."

Snake-Eyes nodded, slowly, pulling his arm from her shoulders again—she gave him a quick sideways glance. He didn't look like he was all that ready to leave, either… maybe?

She glanced down at the gravel of her driveway; it took a few steps before she realized that he was no longer walking beside her. "What's wrong, Snake?" she turned, looking at him over her shoulder with a worried frown. She took a step back towards him. "Tell me."

As he pulled out his notepad and reached for the pen clipped to the spiral, she placed both hands gently on his—and snatched the notepad out of his hands with a gleeful cry. "But _not_ with this!"

She smirked, dancing back with his notepad and pen hidden behind her back; taunting him was fun… but, well, then again, she had to wonder if he'd _let_ her take the pad out of his hand.

Snake-Eyes blinked down at his empty hands, then back up at her, a little stunned. Most people kept their distance from him, careful of his boundaries. No-one he knew would ever even think of snatching something out of his hand like she did. But Snake-Eyes smiled: he wouldn't have let anyone else _get away_ with it the way she did.

Things were funny that way. So simple, but… complicated.

He crossed his arms and mulled over the situation, tapping his foot, obviously, on the driveway—he saw her gaze flick downwards. Then he shrugged with both hands up, as if to ask, "Are you _suuuure?_"

She was silly—so playful. It was stranger still, that she made him want to be just a little playful, too—if only to see the delight in her eyes.

Shana giggled at his mannerisms. _For someone who can't talk, he really is very expressive when he wants to be._ "Yes, I'm sure! Oh, give me a little credit, Snake-Eyes," she scolded, cheerfully. She locked her hands behind her back, straight-armed, twisting the toe of her shoe in the crunching gravel road. "Maybe I've been studying up a little, maybe I haven't?" she teased, playfully. "How'll you _ever_ know?"

He shrugged again, then nodded a quick 'okay.' She could tell he was going slowly, when he raised his hands—she'd seen him signing to the other members of his team—but every little bit of stalling was one more moment before he left, again…

Shana stared intently at his hands, his body language, focusing and following along, muttering the words as he signed. "We really… need…" Shana narrowed her eyes, struggling with the last word. Snake signed it a second time—all his fingers spread, hands moving towards each other in front of his chest. "Wait—wait, I know this one… um…"

Snake-Eyes threw both hands up into the air, as if he'd given up on her, and turned away, starting to walk back down the road. Maybe someone else would have thought that he was just frustrated, but… she knew better, she could see the laughter in the way he'd cocked his head at her before he'd turned, the playful way he was holding himself. She grabbed his arm and giggled, "You're not going anywhere, mister! Just give me a second—I _know_ this one, I do, it's…"

She wracked her brain—she _knew_ she'd seen that particular sign before, but not often, and it wasn't anything to do with military or guns or anything like… "Oh! A vacation! I got it, didn't I? It's 'vacation!'" she pumped a fist into the air in triumph. Then the realization hit of just what he'd said. "We really need… a vacation?"

He studied her for a long moment—then nodded, and continued signing.

"Mountain… lake… cabin… you… " her eyes widened as he made the sign for ownership. Her heart fluttered in her throat. "Wait… what are you saying? You've got a mountain cabin, by a lake? Is that what you mean?"

He nodded. Then pointed to her, and to himself.

Her voice almost gave out from the force of her pulse beating in her ears. "Are you… Snake-Eyes, wait, what _are_ you saying?! Are you… you want me and you to go on a… vacation? Together?" her voice rose into a squeak, and she had to take a deep breath to make herself sound less like a mouse. "You mean… just the two of us? I… I…"

Shana stared at him, wide-eyed. She couldn't. She couldn't go with Snake—but—why not? It wasn't about her father. She could tell her father she was off visiting friends out of town; a small lie, but she couldn't tell him the truth without tell him how she and Snake knew each other, could she? And, truthfully, she was nineteen; most of the time, he let her do what she wanted. She'd had to grow up faster than a lot of girls her age. So… why not?

She was attracted to Snake—so much more attracted to him than she should have been, but she was. Yes, she was young, and _yes, _she didn't know him all that well, but this was her chance. He was Snake-Eyes; maybe she could trust him not to take things… too fast? The thought made her feel flushed, funny, and… hopeful. Oh. Maybe they could lay out some kind of… ground rules, or something.

Did she even want ground rules? _Oh, Shana, don't go there._

But… she really _wanted_ to go with him, didn't she? Maybe she'd regret it if she went with him, but… but she _knew_ she'd regret it if she didn't—

He took a step towards her. Another. Shana held her breath. Wondered if it was okay for her not to move towards him—it had to be, because she didn't think she could have forced her feet forwards even one step. But the thought of stepping back never even occurred to her.

He was close enough for her to touch. Close enough to press both her palms to his chest, if she'd wanted to. Close enough for her to push him away, if she'd wanted to.

Shana found that, well… she didn't want to.

His hands flickered, slowly; she forced herself to concentrate on them.

_[Joking,]_ he signed.

There was a brief moment of incomprehension, and she wondered if she'd read that wrong.

Then Snake-Eyes reached out and flicked his notepad out of her slack fingers, darting a step away—and waving it jauntily at her. She thought if he could have, he'd have winked right through his mask—as it was, his shoulders were shaking with what was pretty sure was laughter. _[Gotcha,]_ he signed.

Suddenly, she could breathe again.

"Oh! I can't believe—Snake-Eyes! That was horrible and underhanded and _mean_," Shana grumbled loudly; she thought she could see him smirking right through the mask. "Just you wait, Snake-Eyes, even if it takes _years_, I'm going to—"

Shana wondered if that weird feeling in her chest was anger, or disappointment, or relief.

But as she whirled, with every intention of stomping her way back to her childhood home, darn him and his teasing and her attraction to him anyway… he was holding her wrist. And he was pulling her gently, and forcefully, back towards him.

He pulled her all the way into his arms, against his chest—in any other circumstance, she'd have loved the feel of him pressed against her, his hard planes, his arms encircling her. Shana scowled up at him, but… she didn't struggle.

Yes, that had definitely been a mean trick for him to play on her, but if this was going to be the last time she saw him… she _did_ want one memory of being held in his arms, like this, embraced by him. Just one.

To Shana's surprise, he reached upwards with his good hand, and started to pull the base of his mask upwards—just enough to reveal his mouth. She blinked, her lips parting in surprise. She'd never seen his face, but his lips were firm, full—twisted along one side with two stripes of scar. She had a brief moment to realize that despite the way those old, white lines turned his mouth, she didn't find it unattractive.

Then he dipped his head and her breath caught on a gasp as he kissed her.

Shana couldn't breathe—and it wasn't because he was holding her too close, or kissing her too deeply; she'd thought that moments like these were the kind left to storybooks. Never—never in a million years—had Shana O'Hara thought she could be standing in front of her house, being kissed—so carefully, oh!—by the man who'd saved her from death so many more times than once. She'd been kissed before, of course—wet little pecks, or a classmate trying to swallow her mouth; she'd wondered if she'd ever see the point of it.

But Snake-Eyes held her closer, and his kiss was gentler—teasing, barely touching her, his lips closing in almost unbearably soft touches over hers. He was treating her like a princess, maybe—this way, without speaking a single word, all of it in his touch and the careful way with which he was cradling her against him.

But… but she didn't want to be a princess.

Shana heard herself make a soft sound, and when she closed her eyes and breathed him in, tiptoeing against him to try to search for something _more_, she felt Snake-Eyes smile—and slant his mouth more fully over hers.

He didn't try and stick his tongue in her mouth, the way some of the boys in her school had… but it didn't matter—with those firmer strokes of his lips against hers, her legs were instantly weak, almost buckling out from under her. His arms shifted around her, though, and he pulled her against him—holding her so tightly that she couldn't possibly fall, his fingers massaging gently against the nape of her neck. Oh… oh, this could make her crazy; she understood that, but Shana wasn't at all sure she cared. And when she kissed him back, and let her tongue dip carefully against the outline of his lips, she felt him shiver, once, his fingertips digging just a little into her skin.

Then Snake-Eyes gently drew back from her, their lips parting.

_Oh._ Shana blinked up at him, feeling dazed._ So… that's what it's like to be kissed._

He licked his lips, just once. Then Snake-Eyes reached upwards and, she thought, rather reluctantly nudged his mask back down.

Shana watched him put himself to rights, chewing her lower lip. Her hands were still resting on his strong, muscled shoulders—she glanced down, traced them inwards, over, trailing down his iron-hard chest, her fingertips skimming the smooth surface of his suit, brushing the warm straps and bands of his gear. His chest moved, slowly, as he breathed under her hands.

Even if there wasn't any mountain vacation—and she was going to get him for that, she really was!—Shana knew that things had moved just… incredibly fast. She couldn't help it: she just felt so drawn to him—attached to him. When she looked up into his eyes, through the visor, he was watching her.

She gave him a shaky, happy little smile, and he nodded, once, and gently released her from his arms.

Then he patted her gently on the arm and turned away.

The knot started in Shana's throat; she swallowed it, and found it sour, hard. So that was what a kiss like that meant. Not 'hello,' but… 'goodbye.'

It was Georgia. It was summer. The sun was setting, but it was still nearly ninety degrees out. And yet, with him taking those steps away, down the driveway, she felt cold and soft and lonely. Shana bowed her head. _You better slow down, Shana,_ she told herself. _You know you're being a silly girl with a silly crush, and that he probably doesn't feel the same way. _

She knew that. She really did. But she knew, too: _This one's gonna be a heartbreaker._

She kept watching his dark silhouette walk away, determined not to move until he drove off on that motorcycle of his. And no-one was more surprise than she was when he stopped, and bowed his head, bringing a hand up to… something. One of his many pockets?

Her heart started pounding again, too rapidly, when he turned on his heel and started walking firmly back up the driveway towards her, his posture determined. She barely noticed that his feet barely made even a crunch on the gravel.

But she noticed when he was close enough, again, for her to touch. And close enough for him to reach out and take her hand.

Close enough for him to draw a little shape across her palm with his fingertip—she gasped a little at the way her hand suddenly felt so sensitive, the warm, smooth material of his glove so strange tracing across her skin, sending goosebumps up her arm and past her shoulder. What was that… wait… a heart?

Close enough for him to raise her hand, and press his lips, through his mask, into her palm, before he folded her fingers closed around… around… what was that?

Then he stepped back, and Shana glanced down. Unfolded her fingers from her tingling palm—found a carefully folded piece of paper, torn out of his notepad.

_913 Bernina Avenue NE; 8:30 PM_

_Inman Park; cross-street N. Highland Avenue._

_Take the side entrance; go up to the roof deck._

Underneath the address and directions, one word:

_Dinner?_

Shana O' Hara blinked down at the piece of paper in her hands, and raised her head. She hadn't seen him writing anything—he hadn't stopped for that long. So he must have been carrying it around with him in his pocket. Which meant… she started to smile... "Snake-Eyes, you—"

She blinked, stopping, her mouth still open on the words. The driveway was empty.

She glanced down at the paper in her hand again.

_8:30 PM_

Shana felt the disbelieving smile spreading across her lips widening to a silly, giddy grin.

She might not see him again for a long, long time... if ever again. It was a very uncomfortable thought, one that she would try not to dwell on.

But at least it wouldn't end tonight right here, right at this very moment. No. She would see him again… at least one more time.

She carefully folded the bit of paper, put it into her pocket… and went inside to get ready.

~fin~

*Authors Note: Thank you for taking time to read this story! I hope it was as enjoyable to read as it was to write. With any luck, I'm working on a sequel and have made a lot of headway (set in the same AU) but there is still much more to go; I anticipate it being much longer than this current story so it will take quite a while to put together and release. But I'd love to hear any and all ideas for the next part!

Also, something important I have to say: While TiamatV has been a tremendous editor, she contributed a lot of brand-new and unique parts to this Epilogue, as well as several other chapters before this one that I really should have mentioned her on (a lot of character development parts, including Snake, Scarlett, and many others). This particular epilogue dialogue is much better than what I originally had. If you liked the story, please make sure to thank her too for all of her contributions and corrections! This wouldn't have been nearly as exciting and descriptive without her...

And of course thanks goes out to Larry Hama and his team for creating such a wonderful story and developing wonderful characters to go along with it! Let's just hope the movie is as good as his storylines!

-D


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